Glory Days
by Godfather
Summary: A fic that deals with Jean and Ororo's arrival to the Institute and their effect on Scott and Logan. Meanwhile, Magneto is gathering mutants to his fold in preparation for a final confrontation. Jott and LoRoro
1. Chapter 1

"You must try to use your other senses," Charles Xavier urged his fourteen year-old protégé as the sparring robot whapped him again, this time in the stomach. Scott Summers doubled over as the wind was knocked out of him.

"I'm . . . trying. . . ," he gasped, slowly erecting himself. His face and shirt were damp with sweat, and his brown hair hung raggedly onto his forehead. He'd taken quite a punishing from the humanoid sparring droid.

Squaring his feet, Scott launched a powerful roundhouse kick at the gleaming black machine. It raised an arm to block his kick though and responded with a two-punch combo. Scott hopped back just in time to avoid the counterattack.

"Very good so far," Charles congratulated. Scott was doing at least as well in the practice fight as any other boy his age would, and Scott had one severe handicap. . .

He couldn't see.

Scott had been born a mutant, but unlike other mutants he could not control his powers due to an unfortunate accident early in his childhood. In his case, that was a real problem. Scott's mutant gift was a deadly and undoubtedly destructive eyebeam of raw, solar energy that emanated from his eyes twenty four hours a day. The only way he could keep from destroying everything in sight was to keep his eyes shut, because for some reason his eyelids were able to keep the beams in check.

So that was what how Charles Xavier had found his first recruit, huddled in a street corner with a makeshift blindfold around his eyes. It hadn't taken long to figure out why that was absolutely necessary.

Scott still wore a tight blindfold though, and he never took it off. It was the only surefire way to keep his beams in check until the Professor could come up with some sort of device that could withstand and control them.

Now was no exception. Even though Scott could not see, he still did extensive physical training. At the moment, he was dueling with one of Xavier's first additions to the large, gym-like room he'd nicknamed the Danger Room. The sparring robot exercise was intended to help Scott learn to fend for himself and maneuver easily despite his inability to see. And it was working. In the four months since joining, Scott had developed his other senses, especially hearing, to remarkably acute levels. He'd learned to decipher the tiniest sounds into useful information, and he could now get around the large Westchester mansion with ease, as well as hold his own against a robot he couldn't see.

Scott listened closely., letting his breathing fall into a soft, rhythmic pattern. He heard the telltale whir of the sparring droid's micro-motors and ducked. The droid's fist sailed right through the air where Scott's head had been. Reacting instinctively, Scott's left leg shot into a flawless sweep kick that knocked the robot off of its feet. A small tune played, indicating that Scott had scored, a feat achievable only when one managed to land a direct hit on the robot. The session had been programmed to end when Scott attained three points, leaving him with only two more to go.

The robot jerkily righted itself and assumed a fighting stance. After a brief hesitation, it jumped into the air for a flying kick. However, Scott could tell the instant his mechanical opponent left the ground and guessing its move, crossed his arms in a block that diverted the force of the kick. Scott didn't even wait until the robot had landed to launch an attack, delivering a swift right cross and then pivoting on his right foot, spinning around and using the momentum to add power to his kick. The blow sent the droid sprawling to the floor and gave Scott his third point, ending the game.

"You've cut one minute off your completion time," said Xavier, "that is extremely good progress."

Scott merely nodded as he felt around on the floor for his gym towel, finding it after a few seconds and wiping his face.

"I think a break is well deserved right about now," Xavier continued. Dinner is in an hour anyway."

"Thank you," said a heavily breathing Scott. For a moment, Xavier wondered if perhaps he'd pushed the boy too hard. Scott looked at him though and almost as if he could read his mind said, "I'll be fine, Professor."

Xavier's mouth tilted into a semi-smile. "Of course.

****

For the first time in months, the psionically enhanced supercomputer known as Cerebro registered an active mutant signature in the area. The alarm that Cerebro used to indicate this had awakened Xavier from his restful slumber in the middle of the night. He knew the importance of the alarm though, and was soon in the main room that housed Cerebro, sitting in the chair with the amplification helmet firmly secured to his head.

Cerebro had tracked the mutant to a house near the outskirts of Bayville. The user was apparently young, their mutant powers having surfaced for the first time. Xavier hoped for his, or her, sake that their power wasn't as destructive as Scott's. Tapping a few more keys, Xavier began to access more information about the young mutant. The data rolled across the screen.

_Name_: Jean Alicia Grey.

_Age_: 14.

_Height_: 5'5" . . .apparently, she was the daughter of a trial lawyer and a prolific writer. Accessing her school records, Xavier learned that she was a grade A student who was involved in many extracurricular activities. He sighed, she appeared to have a normal and well-adjusted life, and it was almost a pity that she turned out to be a mutant. That news would change her world forever.

Xavier detected Scott's mental presence an instant before he padded into the room, scratching at his head. "Professor," he muttered, "is something wrong? It sounded like a fire alarm went off or something."

"Nothing's wrong," Xavier told the boy, not yet turning to face him. "What you heard was Cerebro."

'I've never heard Cerebro do that."

"I know. Cerebro only raises an alarm when it detects a mutant in the area, or rather, a mutant using their powers."

Scott's brows went up. "You mean Cerebro just located another mutant?"

"Precisely." Xavier turned around to face his student and said, " Her name is Jean Grey, she's about your age actually."

"Are you going to try to enroll her?"

"Of course. And as soon as possible. I'll probably be making a couple of phone calls tomorrow morning, maybe even pay the Grey family a visit. Right now though, I think it'd be best if you went back to sleep."

Never one to backtalk, Scott simply nodded and walked out the door.

***

"Jean Grey awoke violently at midnight to find herself suspended in midair, a good five feet above her bed. She gasped, willing herself to stay afloat as her mind tried to get a grasp on the current situation. She'd been asleep nice and sound, dreaming about how she was going to spend the rest of the summer, and then she'd felt a weird sensation in her head, and now she was defying gravity.

She looked down, and immediately lost her concentration as the shock hit her full force. She fell straight down, slamming into her bed, bouncing off, and colliding head first to the ground with loud thud. Pain exploded in her left eye.

It took her parents a full five seconds to come pounding up the stairs and into her room.

"Jean! Jean, what happened?" burst her mother as she flung the door open. When she saw Jean sprawled out on the floor, her hands flew to her mouth. Her daughter looked unnaturally pale, and her red hair was drenched in sweat.

"I'm OK," Jean mumbled weakly. She shakily rose to her feet, her head throbbing fiercely.

"What happened?" her father demanded.

"I-I don't know." Jean's father stepped forward and helped her onto her feet letting her sit on the bed.

"We heard a loud thud," Mrs. Grey told her, "it sounded serious."

Jean looked at her parents. Concern was etched all over their faces. "Mom, dad, I think I was levitating. Floating in the air. "

"Oh dear God," her mother said to her father, "the poor girl must have hit her head even harder than we thought."

"What?! No, I'm serous mom. I woke up and I was floating in midair. I don't know how or why but I swear I was."

Her father turned to her mother. "You're right honey. I think Jean may have a concussion or something. She's obviously delirious."

"Do you think we should take her to the hospital?"

"No!" Jean interrupted. I'm not delirious and I'm not making this up. It really happened and it was so scary. I was up there like I was flying or something and then I just dropped. That's what you heard. I hit the ground pretty hard falling from that height." Jean's voice was getting louder and in turn, her head was throbbing worse. No matter, she knew what had happened and she knew it was real, and it irked her that her parents didn't believe her.

"Honey," her mom said gently, "what you're saying isn't possible. People can't levitate, it's as simple as that. What I think is that you were dreaming perhaps."

"Or," her father cut in, "maybe you were sleepwalking. You got out of bed, started to walk, and simply slipped hard and hurt your head." He squinted at her left eye, which was starting to swell shut. "Boy, you've got a shiner there," he said with a low whistle. "I tell you what, lets go get you an icepack to go on that eye, and then get you a good night's sleep. Hopefully, you'll snap out of it."

Jean was ready with another protest that she wasn't imagining things, but refrained. She was tired, and her left eye was starting to feel weird. She would worry about it tomorrow.

"Um, Okay," she said.

***

The next morning was a Saturday. Jean awoke, half scared that she would be hanging in the air five feet up. Thankfully she was safely grounded on top of her bed, although her eye hurt like crazy. A cursory glance at her bedside mirror confirmed her fears. Her left eye was a lovely shade of purple, and it was horribly swollen.

Halfheartedly, she trudged out of bed, hardly even bothering to make it. The soccer ball shaped clock above her door read 10:50. She'd woken up four hours later than usual.

Jean could hear the soft buzz of talking downstairs, and figured her parents must be talking with each other about last night. Now that she thought about it, she could se why her parents would be skeptical. Were she in their shoes, she probably would have done the same.

She trotted down the stairs at an easygoing pace, wondering if her parents would believe her any more today than they had yesterday. She was still convinced that she hadn't been dreaming, and though she could sympathize with her parents' disbelief of her, she knew that that had been real.

Her eyes widened at the sight that awaited her in the dining room downstairs. Both of her parents were there, but so were two strangers whom she had never before seen in her life. They hadn't noticed her on the stairs yet, so she took the opportunity to look a little closer.

One of the strangers was completely bald. He looked to be in his mid forties or so, and he was seated in wheelchair. The other person, unlike his counterpart, did not say anything. He had dark brown hair and looked to be about Jean's age or so. He seemed content to simply listen attentively to the grown folks conversation. The striking thing about him was that he had something wrapped tightly around his eyes. At first glance, it could be mistaken for a head band, but upon further inspection was obviously a blindfold. it appeared to be so snug that Jean sincerely doubted he could see at all. She stepped down another step.

That was when Scott heard her. No one else in the room possessed hearing sharp enough to discern the sound, but Scott could hear it ever so slightly. His head was a blur as it tilted up in the exact direction of the sound, and were it not for the blindfold he would have been looking directly at Jean.

The bald man and her parents followed suit, straining to see what had caught Scott's attention.

"Jean," her mother was the first to say, "I didn't know you were there. Come on down."

Jean trodded down the rest of the stairs, her bunny slippers flip flopping with every step. "Mom," she began.

"I'll explain," the bald man said, politely cutting her off. He turned the chair using its built in joystick so that he was facing her. When they made eye contact, Jean got the sudden feeling that there was more to this man than met the eye. "My name is Charles Xavier," he continued, "and I am the Professor at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters."

_Odd name for a school _Jean thought.

"Not really," Xavier replied as if she'd voiced the thought aloud. "The school is for those young people who have special talents or gifts. Its quite simple really"

Jean was still curious about how Xavier had known what she was thinking but chalked it up to intuition. "So what does that have to do with my family?" she asked.

Xavier smiled. "You, Ms. Grey, are one of those gifted people I was referring to. I believe you possess extraordinary talents, and I've actually come to inquire about the possibility of you enrolling at the institute."

Jean frowned. She sensed there was something he was getting at, but she had no idea what. "What makes you think I'm 'gifted?'" she asked warily.

Charles Xavier exchanged a quick look with her parents and then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

"Hon," her dad said, "We think you're a. . .a mutant."

Jean blinked, too confused to say anything except 'Wha-?"

"It's not such a bad thing," the brown haired boy commented dryly, "as long as you're not packin' a bazooka behind each eyeball anyway." It was the first thing he'd said for the entire conversation.

"Forgive me," said Xavier. "I forgot to introduce you to. He's a student at the Institute.

"Oh," said Jean. She turned to Scott. "Hi . . .Scott. Nice to meet you"

"Likewise," he said simply. "Anyway, there's this thing called a mutant gene in some people's DNA. It carries unique and powerful traits and every once in a while manifests in carriers of the gene. Carriers like you and I and the Professor. In other words, mutants.."

"But what is this 'unique and powerful trait'?" Jean asked. You keep talking about gifts and abilities-what _kinds _of gifts and abilities?"

Jean's parents looked at Scott. "Show her what you showed us earlier," said the mother.

Scott shrugged and pulled out a quarter. Balancing it on his index finger, he flipped it up into the air. His other hand was a blur, it shot up to his blindfold and lifted it ever so slightly, opening his eyes a tad bit.

The energy that he unleashed erupted like water from a pressurized hose. Scott's aim was perfect. The beam of solar energy impaled the quarter in midspin. When it landed back in Scott's hand, it had a smoking hole in the middle. The trick had taken a month to perfect, and required flawless timing and speed. Practice had given him both, and as a result he could perform the trick, even though he couldn't actually see the quarter.

Jean was dumbfounded. "Wha-what was that?" she asked hoarsely.

"His gift," Xavier answered. His eyes produce a strange concentration of solar energy that is destructive to the core. The problem is, he can't turn it off. The only way to keep from destroying everything in sight is to keep his eyes completely shut. The insides of his eyelids have the ability to neutralize his energy beam." He paused. "That's why Scott wears this blindfold. It never comes off."

Jean suddenly understood Scott's offhand comment about having a bazooka behind each eyeball. That was about the only thing she understood though. The rest was just too hard to comprehend. That there were people out there with 'gifts', or rather, strange powers judging by the display Scott had put on, was difficult to imagine. She thought about the incident last night. Could that have been a by product of this 'gift' that these two claimed she had. She looked at both of them, feeling slightly overwhelmed at all that had happened in the past twelve hours.

"Apparently," she said finally, "we have a lot to talk about."

A/N thanks for reading. Tell me what you think and any suggestion are welcome. Trust me though, once I get to the heart of the story it'll get better. Pleasant day.


	2. Chapter 2

Exactly one hour and seventeen minutes later, Jean used her powers for the second time in her life.

The Professor had given her some more information on the scientific ramifications of what he'd dubbed, The X-Factor. He'd also given her a little more information about the Institute. Every once in a while, Jean's eyes would stray towards Scott Summers who was just sitting there impassively. She'd developed a mild fascination with the boy, and hoped he would speak some more, although it didn't look like he was going to.

After covering all that, they'd reverted back to a Q&A mode. The first thing Jean did was tell the Professor about her experiences the night before. He seemed fascinated by her recounting and even Scott, who could have been sleeping for all anyone knew, appeared to listen a bit.

"So you fell," Xavier confirmed, "Is that how you sustained the injury on your eye?"

Jean reached up to gingerly touch the black and blue area around her left eye. "Yeah," she said, "it still hurts.

"So . . . what do you think Jean's power is?" asked her mother. Of Jean's parents, her mother was more ready to believe what Xavier had said, farfetched as it was. "Flight?"

"Possibly," Xavier answered, "but I have a feeling it goes deeper than that. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and Jean had the strangest feeling, as if something or someone were messing around in her mind. However, the sensation subsided so quickly that she couldn't tell whether or not it was just her imagination.

Xavier abruptly opened his eyes. "Jean, I'd like you to try something for me."

"Sure."

Xavier gestured to a salt shaker that rested inert on the table. "I want you to concentrate Jean. Concentrate very hard and attempt to move that salt shaker . . . with your mind."

"Oh." Jean looked at the transparent, half-filled shaker. Were it not for last night, she probably would have laughed outright at the idea that she could pull that mind-over-matter crap off. But now. . .it was worth a shot at least. She angled her chair so that she was facing the shaker, took a deep breath, and willed it to move.

It didn't.

Her father leaned forward. "Jean, did you try it?" he asked, not able to keep all of the skepticism out of his voice.

Jean nodded. "Yeah I'm trying, but I can't." She turned to the Professor. "Why did you ask me to try moving that thing with my thoughts anyway?" she asked.

"The correct term for mind over matter," the Professor said, "is telekinesis. As for why I think you possess the gift, call it a hunch." He propped his elbow up onto the wheelchair's armrest, his mouth curving into a contemplative frown. "I want you to try again," he said , "but this time, visualize how exactly you want the object to move, and then concentrate on _actualizing _that vision."

Kind of hard to understand, but Jean got the basic gist of it. She decided she was going to make the object float in the air. She stretched out her hand, biting her bottom lip in concentration, and willed it to move once more.

For the second time, nothing happened. . . but something was different this time. She could feel a strange buzz in the back of her head, and the room seemed supercharged with an almost electric energy that sent goosebumps rippling on her arms. Then there was a slight breeze inside the room that whipped her hair about as it grew around her. Something was happening alright, so she didn't stop, and instead concentrated even harder. She tried to focus on the salt shaker and nothing else. The little buzz in the back of her head seemed to indicate how much progress she was making, and she felt sure something was about to happen. All it needed was a little more. . .

Suddenly, with a violent leap the empty shaker sprang into the air, hitting the ceiling and rebounding down before it clattered off the table and onto the floor.

Scott telepathically asked Xavier what had happened. Although he couldn't see, he'd heard the loud commotion well enough.

_Success, _came the psychic response. Xavier turned back to Jean, and was more than a little surprised to see that she now had the salt shaker floating in the air. "Excellent," he congratulated her. "Now see if you can lower it back onto the table."

Jean nodded, somewhat relieved. The mental strain of keeping the object suspended in midair had become quite difficult. Little by little, she let her concentration trickle away. As the shaker descended, the buzzing in the back of her head began to fade.

When she'd finally lowered the object to the tabletop, Jean let out a sigh of relief. Her hand dropped and she plopped back in her chair. "Now that," she announced, "is _too _cool. I mean, my God its like I'm a Jedi or something, you know, like in _Star Wars_." Jean was a very avid sci-fi fan.

"No mysterious Force here," Xavier told her, "just a genetic mutation." He looked at Jean's dumbstruck parents. "Your daughter has a rare gift," he said. "If you think you'd be interested at all in enrolling her at the Institute, contact me." He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to Jean's mom. "The Institute's phone, fax, address, and e-mail is on that card."

Mrs. Grey took a look at the card and frowned. "Westchester County. That's a little far, isn't it?"

"One hour and 53 minutes from here, provided the traffic isn't too harsh. Like I said, if you need more information, please contact me."

"We will," Mr. Grey assured him, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.

"Excellent. On that note, Scott and I must be leaving now." Scott nodded in accordance with Xavier's words. He began to stand.

"Oh and by the way," Xavier called to Jean. "Good luck on your big soccer game against the Tigers." With that, he wheeled out of the room with Scott right behind him.

By the time the door shut, Jean's mind was reeling. How had he known about her soccer game?

This day was getting weirder and weirder. . .

**********************

"That went well," Professor Xavier commented as he and Scott rode back to the Institute. Even though he was crippled, Xavier was able to drive thanks to technology. Neuro-sensitive controls in the expensive car responded to his mental commands, giving him the ability to control all of the car's features with his mind. "It went much better than I'd expected, even."

"I think my little stunt with the coin might've scared them," Scott said.

"Oh, I doubt it. Your display most likely did what I hoped it would. Drive home the importance of the mutant issue."

"How do you know they won't just call the police? Or the highest paying tabloid? Most people would."

"Perhaps, but remember that I am a telepath. If I had sensed an impulse to do something like that, I could have telepathically squashed it easily. Not that I would need to employ such measures. The Greys are very reasonable and intelligent people, certainly not impulsive enough to do something like that. They care for their daughter very much, and I think we can count on their support in this."

"Yeah, but do you think they'll send her to the Institute?"

"Its certainly possible. . ." Xavier paused for a moment before grinning to himself. "I noticed that Jean Grey seemed to be a tad bit fascinated with you," he casually mentioned. It was true. During the conversation, it had not been a rare sight at all for Jean's eyes to stray in Scott's direction.

Scott's face went a little warm. He had not been oblivious. Despite not being able to see, he could very well sense when someone was staring at him and Jean was no exception. "I'd probably stare a little too if some guy came into my house wearing a blindfold, especially if I learned that he did so to keep pulverizing energy beams from blastin out of his eyes."

"Hmm." Xavier could have pointed out that that wasn't the only reason Jean had seemed a little captivated, but opted not to. "You know I've been talking to Dr. Philips about a way to control your eyebeams."

Scott perked up. Ever since he'd come to the Institute, Xavier had been working to create a device that would give Scott visibility and would also keep his beams in check. He'd finally come across Gerald Philips, an esteemed scientist who as it turned out was a mutant himself. Dr. Philips' brain had become phenomenally augmented, especially in the technical fields due to his mutation. Philips, after hearing Xavier out had readily agreed to do all he could for the boy. After one and a half months, the genius had slowly but surely made progress, analyzing element after element after compound after alloy to find the solution. He'd narrowed it down to some type of quartz stone that would provide the solution. Which one, he was still trying to find out. "Has he discovered anything else?" Scott asked hopefully.

"Sort of. He's managed to come up with a material that can withstand the high temperature solar forces present in your eyebeams, but the kinetic energy that is also present, that's a different matter. Your beams are like a huge, superheated battering ram that either incinerates or punches clean through anything in its way. As such, finding a neutralizing agent is very difficult, even for a scientist of Dr. Philips' caliber.

"That said, he's experimented with more substances, coming up with zanium quartz. Ts a compound Zanium quartz can withstand extremely high temperatures, and does very well in impact trials as well."

"But?" Scott prodded, knowing that there was catch.

Xavier sighed. "There are two problems. One, this material cannot possibly be converted into anything remotely transparent, so you wouldn't be able to see anything, and Two, zanium quartz's resistant properties begin to wear down over time with exposure to solar plasma, which constitutes part of your beam."

"So basically we're back to square one." It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Not true. We've narrowed the search quite a bit, and made some considerable progress so far, and Dr. Philips should have a solution soon."

"I hope so," said Scott. "I really hope so."

***************************************************

"When did they come, Mom?" Jean asked one hour later.

"About one hour before you came down. The Professor introduced himself and talked about his school at first, before telling us about mutants. Then the boy . . ."

"Scott," Jean supplied.

"Yes, Scott. He did the same thing with the quarter that you saw later on. Scared the heck out of us. Then Scott explained he was a mutant and you know the rest."

"I wonder how the Professor found me," Jean mused. "I mean, how could he detect a mutant living here all the way from Westchester?"

Her dad shrugged. "Who knows," he said through a mouth full of meatballs. He swallowed and then set his fork down. "Jeannie," he began, "do you think you want to look into the offer that Professor Xavier has made? It's a free enrollment at the Institute. He has an impeccable history and has several references who would readily vouch for him and his school. The problem I can think of is that it's so far away from home."

Jean said, "I honestly don't know- Its all happening so fast." She looked up at both of her parents. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course honey."

Jean suddenly remembered how Xavier had flippantly brought up her soccer game, which she should not have even known about in the first place. "Dad, you didn't tell Professor Xavier about my soccer game, did you?"

"Nope, come to think of it, I was a little surprised that he even knew about it."

"He did say he was a mutant," Mrs. Grey said thoughtfully. "Maybe that had something to do with it. Of course, you can always ask the man."

Jean nodded. She certainly planned to. . .


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Scott dreamed of Jean. He didn't know why, since he hadn't really thought about her that much. Nevertheless, she was there in his dreams. He had no idea what she looked like, but in his dream, she was very beautiful with long . . .he couldn't really remember what color hair she'd had, but long flowing hair, at the least.

She was saying something to him, he couldn't exactly remember what, when his alarm clock woke him up. Groggily, he sat up and readjusted his blindfold, which had shifted a little during the night.

"Pleasant dreams?"

Scott realized that Xavier was in the room at almost exactly the same time that he realized Xavier, being one of the most powerful telepaths in the world, had probably picked up a little on his dream. Not that it was inappropriate or anything, or even that it had been a _romantic_ dream. It just felt a little weird to have to wonder about the privacy of his own mind.

"Um yeah," Scott stammered. He could imagine Xavier silently chuckling to himself.

"Good, I just wanted to inform you that Logan is back in town, back at the mansion actually."

"Why, I thought he was going to marry that Mariko lady and stay with her in Japan."

"I thought I was too bub, but I had to leave, my bein' there was causin' a little too much conflict of the violent sort, if you get my meanin'."

The voice belonged to Logan, who had just entered the room. Scott wondered what Logan meant by 'conflict of the violent sort' and made a mental note to ask the scrappy Canadian about it later.

"So I hear you might be getting' a classmate soon Cyke," Logan went on. 'Cyke' was short for Cyclops, a name that Logan had jokingly pinned on Scott in reference to the way his eyebeams merged into one single stream of force and energy when let loose.

"Maybe," replied Scott.

"Hmm, well, I s'pose it'll do ya good to have a little friend to play with," Logan muttered. He turned his attention to Xavier. "Well Chuck, have you been keepin' my Harley in shape?"

"As good as the day you bought her," Xavier promised.

Logan grinned. "Good. Mind if I run through a few sessions in the Danger Room. Just got off a twenty-five hour trip of nothing but bein' crouched over a cycle, and not even my own one at that. Muscles feel like they could use a good workout."

"Then by all means," Xavier invited. "I've needed someone to test some of my new combat programs on anyway."

Scott stood up at Xavier's words. "Think I could join Logan?" he asked.

"You should probably ask him that."

Logan shrugged. Fine by me kid, if you think you can handle it." Logan smiled, pulled out a Cuban cigar, and lit it, exhaling a wreath of lingering smoke. "Gotta say, its good to be back"

****************

The next day at exactly noon, Charles Xavier received a telephone call in his office. He spared a glance at the caller ID display. The call was from the Grey household. He picked up the phone. "Hello, Mr. Grey?"

"No its-"

"Mrs. Grey then?"

"Its Jean."

Xavier paused. "My apologies then Jean. How are you doing?"

"Fine. I just had a few questions about your Institute Mr. Xavier. I'm like, 99% sure that I want to go, but there's some things I want to get straight."

"Well then , by all means ask away."

"OK, um, how many kids are there at the school?"

A pause

"Professor?"

"Uh, yes. Well, Scott is currently the only student enrolled at the Institute."

Jean was shocked. "Just one student?"

"Yes, though I'm sure you can understand why. Mutants are not all that common."

Jean thought about it. Actually, it didn't seem so bad, being one of only two students there. As long as she was able to socialize outside of the school, she'd be able to handle it. "What about the curriculum?" she asked. "What exactly will I be learning?"

"You would be learning how to control and enhance your powers mostly. There will also be drivers and basic piloting education, as well as some rather rigorous physical training."

"What about academic coursework though?"

"Ah, well that's where the local high school comes in. During the day, you will be enrolled there and simply come return to the Institute after classes. I already have the arrangement set up with the school board there for Scott, and you should be no different."

"Makes sense."

"Good. Do you have any more questions?"

"Not really," Jean said. "But Professor?" She trailed off for a second, before beginning again. "Can you really help me with. . .whatever this that's going on with me?"

"I can, and I will," Xavier promised her, projecting confidence and calm into his voice.

Jean smiled. She honestly believed him. "Thanks, Professor."

*************

When Jean trodded up the Institute's nicely arranged walkway nearly a week later, she was amazed at what she saw. The Institute looked more like a mansion than a school, with classic Victorian architecture, elegant landscaping, and what appeared to be a maze made out of carefully trimmed bushes.

Her mother nudged her on forward, and Jean realized that she had stopped walking. There were no goodbyes, those had already been exchanged beforehand. Instead, Jean just stood there as her mother walked back to the car. She felt more than a little nervous.

She rang the doorbell. Two seconds later, the door opened and a smiling Xavier looked back at her, with the blindfolded Scott right behind him.

"Hello Jean," greeted the Professor, "and welcome to the Institute for Gifted Youngsters."

***

It was ten hours later, and not for the first time Jean wondered why she hadn't seen Scott for so much as a minute. She'd been hoping to talk with him, maybe ask a few questions, but her fellow pupil had vanished within moments of her entering the Institute.

The majority of her day had been spent touring the mansion, a time during which she had come to appreciate just how large the building was. There were many corridors and hallways and Jean hadn't even seen the underground levels yet, but the good Professor had dropped off a few more-than-subtle hints that it would be quite the surprise.

After her tour, she'd taken a quick lunch break, and then the Professor had shown Jean her room so she could unpack her things. She was a little surprised to find out that it was directly adjacent to Scott's room, the two were even connected by a door. Her hand on the doorknob, she decided not to mention that particular feature the next time she wrote home. . .

It was part curiosity, and part boredom that compelled her to walk into his room. She looked around once she'd fully stepped through the portal from her room to his. As she'd suspected, he wasn't there.

The room itself was neat and orderly, and Jean found it hard to believe that such an organized place could belong to someone who for all intents and purposes was blind. There were of course no pictures, no posters, no mirrors, no television. She was surprised that there was even a light switch.

The bed, which rested against the wall to the left of the main door, was made. Beside it was a small desk on which sat a necklace, a cassette tape, a radio, and an alarm clock. She picked up the cassette tape. It read, The Lone Ranger, episode 6.

"My favorite episode," said a voice from behind her. She whirled around to see Scott standing in the doorway. She dropped the tape. "Scott! I . . ." she began to explain. Then something else occurred to her. "Wait, how, did you even know what I was looking at?"

"Call it a sixth sense," came the reply. Scott shoved his hands in his pockets. Jean noticed just then that he was sweating, and his blindfold was drenched with sweat. He looked like he'd just finished an extensive workout or something. "Looking through my stuff?" he asked. There was no anger in his tone, just amusement, if anything.

"Oh wow, umm. . .sorry," Jean stammered in apology, her face turning bright red.

Scott pushed off from the door frame he'd been leaning on and walked over to Jean, as if he could see exactly where she was. He flashed conspiratorial grin, as if to say 'no biggie' and when he did speak it was about something else entirely. "Well," he said, "what do you think of the Institute so far?"

"Oh! Um, Its big," Jean told him. "The food's good and I like the décor."

"That's good."

"Yeah." Jean cocked her head to the side. "I haven't really seen you around though."

Scott shrugged. "That's probably because I've in sub-levels, going through some routines with Logan in the Danger Room."

"Who's Logan, and what's the Danger Room?"

Scott looked surprised that she'd asked the questions. He took his hands out of his pockets and made a beckoning gesture. "C'mon," he said. "I'll show you."

***

**Note**: On the issue of the nature of Scott's eyebeams. True, in the cartoon and the comic, they are merely concussive blasts of force, but I always considered this a mistake on the part of Marvel. They are after all beams of solar energy, which is far hotter than it is concussive. If they are going to be solar beams, I figured they should at least be able burn through things. It may not be technically correct according to the comics, but this _is _an A/U. Hopefully, it won't be too much of a turn off. . .

-Godfather


	4. Chapter 4

Then next morning, Jean woke up a bit later than usual, something she feared was beginning to turn into a habit. Not that it was entirely her fault though. The bed itself was the most comfortable she had ever slept in, it seemed to softly conform to just the right texture, yet it wasn't as annoying as a waterbed.

Reluctantly though, she clambered out of it, stretching as she stood. Making it was simple, and twenty minutes later she was showered dressed, and headed downstairs where she could smell a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen.

"Glad you could make it," Scott remarked, not turning around. His back was to her as he washed dishes, wearing an apron and kitchen gloves. _How does he do that ? _she asked herself, not for the first time. _How does he always know where I am? Or where anything is, for that matter?_

Jean's nagging questions disappeared, however, as soon as she saw the table. Or rather, what was on the table. Four plates all filled to the brim with pancakes decked with maple syrup and melted butter. The sight was even more tantalizing than the aroma. "Did you make this?" she asked.

"Yep." He still didn't turn around as he washed and rinsed the dishes, putting plates and utensils on the drying rack with the ease of a sighted person.

"Do you mind if I-" Jean began

"Dig in. You can tell me if I used too much garlic, or if it needs a couple more onions."

Stunned silence.

"Joke," he clarified.

"Ohhhhhh. Oh yeah, haha." Jean shot him a dirty look that she hoped he could somehow sense before turning her attention to breakfast. She sat down, scooted her chair in, picked up the fork, and took her first bite. It was delicious, and Jean doubted she'd ever tasted better pancakes. She promised herself that before she left the Institute, she would learn how to cook like this.

"So you like 'em huh."

"What makes you think that?" Jean shot back, mid-mouthful.

"Oh, I can tell. The little noises you made were the biggest tip off."

"Oh," said Jean before ravenously finishing the rest of her meal in relative silence. Her plate was polished clean in five minutes. "You are definitely teaching me how to cook like that," she declared, staring at the empty plate in front of her in partial disbelief. "That was amazing.

Scott smiled. "If you say so." He finished rinsing the last dish and then removed the apron and rubber gloves, heading for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Jean called after him.

Scott turned around. "Well school, technically. I've got a killer math quiz coming up."

"You go to school here?"

"I have since I arrived a few months ago. Of course, I'll be going to public school, Bayville High, in the fall as a freshman."

Jean tried to imagine Scott, who was blinder than a bat, trying to get back and forth between classes. If Bayville High was anything like her old school, he'd be toast. Especially since everyone would probably be wondering what he was doing with a blindfold over his head. "So summer school huh."

"I missed out on a lot of it when I was, um, on the streets," Scott explained. The Professor's been helping me catch up to where I should be academically."

"That's cool of him, although I don't know if I _like_ school enough that I would want to take it when I didn't absolutely have to."

Scott looked surprised. "Why not? I mean, school is where you learn about the world, how it works and why it works. Why _wouldn't _you want that?"

Jean cocked her head to the side. "Well, I mean yeah, you _do_ learn things, but it can be really boring sometimes. Like when you have to take SATs and tests and quizzes and do-" she trailed off right about the time she realized Scott wasn't getting her point.

He cocked his head to the side too, mirroring her action even though he couldn't possibly have known that she'd done it. "I think," he said, "that knowledge is one of the most precious commodities any of us have, and that we should get as much of it as we can, we're lucky that its so available. We have libraries and museums filled to the brim with it, ours for the taking. With knowledge, you can do anything."

Jean blinked. And then she laughed. "Oh wow," she tittered, "you sound just like my mom. Did you just quote some famous guy? I'm sure I've heard that on PBS or something."

Scott's earnest expression faded once he realized he was being mocked. "No, it's just something that the Professor told me."

"I figured as much," Jean remarked.

"Yeah, well I really gotta go." Scott retreated fully through the doorway. In mid-turn, he stopped and swiveled as if he were about to say something, but didn't.

She watched him all the way until he walked around a corner and out of her line of sight.

***

Two days later was the 4th of July and Jean was happy to see that when she woke up, her clock only read 6:00. She got up, showered, and brushed her teeth, wondering if Xavier would say yes to what she was about to ask. As usual, a mouth-watering breakfast awaited her downstairs. What was unusual was that there was a man at the table besides the Professor and Scott. He was big, not really that tall, but with solid, muscular build. The most eye- popping thing about him was that he seemed to have three knives attached to the knuckles of each hand. It took a few seconds for Jean to make the connection. This must be Logan. Scott had offered to introduce her to him, but had been unable to because Logan happened to be out then.

"Ah, Jean. Please join us, will you." Xavier hadn't even had to turn around to detect her presence. Not surprising since he could probably detect any mind anywhere. He'd told her the exact nature of his powers the day before, and Jean still couldn't help but be impressed, and a little scared. The things that Xavier could do if he wanted to were . .limitless. The man's self control was astounding.

Scott and Logan looked up, and it was only then that Jean noticed the 'knives' on Logan's hands weren't knives at all. They were . . .they were claws. _Creepy_.

"Logan, meet Jean, our newest student," the Professor was saying.

Logan flexed his fingers and the metal claws retracted with a faint snikt sound. "Hey," was his monosyllabic greeting.

"Hello." Jean walked over to the only spot on the table that had both a plate and an empty chair. Scott had deviated from his menu of pancakes this morning, opting to make French toast instead. It was a toss up as to which was more delicious.

Jean eyed Logan for a moment before asking him, "So, what are you're powers?"

If he was taken aback by the question, he didn't show it. "I heal," the told her.

"From what?"

Logan chuckled. "Damn near anything kid. Bullets, knives, car crashes, stuff like that."

Jean nodded, but she wanted to hear about the claws. "That's not it, right? I mean, what else can you do?"

Logan looked over at Xavier in, who telepathically said, ~She's just curious, satiating her interest will do no harm.~

The Canadian shrugged and turned his eyes back to Jean. "My mutation altered my senses to make them especially. Y'know, enhanced eyesight, hearing, smell, that kinda thing. I also got claws built into my skeletal structure." He eyed Xavier. ~Happy?~

Jean was off the topic of Logan's powers though, and was talking to Scott about cars. She loved, 'em, and Scott had magically developed a liking for them himself in the space of a few days.

It wasn't the only change to have come over Scott though. Ever since Logan had known him, the kid had been rigid, not necessarily aloof, but by no means social either. Jean hadn't been there a whole week, and already she had him acting different. Scott's hair was even combed. Logan hadn't even known the kid HAD a comb, or that he cared about his hair.

Logan watched amused as the two chatted, deciding to ask Scott about his growing suspicion later.

***

"I think you like her," Logan commented offhandedly as he and Scott scrubbed the tire rims of his bike. Some idiot had managed to splash the Harley with mud a few days ago, so Logan and Scott had gone out to clean it after breakfast.

"Like who?" Scott asked, even though he knew very well whom Logan was talking about.

"Jean."

Scott paused. "What makes you say that?"

"Hey kid, I know the signs. Had more than my fair share of crushes when I was a kid."

Scott shook his head. "You of all people Logan, trying to play matchmaker."

"Deny it if you want to Cyke, doesn't make it any less a fact. I mean, hey, she's a nice girl."

"And I think you're imagining things," said Scott. He sighed. "Besides, even if I did like her, what would you want me to do? Tell her?"

"Well that's usually how these things're handled. . ."

"Right, as if anyone would be interested in some adopted kid who has to wear a blindfold so he won't destroy everything in sight. Literally." Scott realized he'd taken his hypothetical scenario a bit too far and quickly added, "But I don't like her like that at all, so there's no point in discussing it."

"Just keep tellin' yerself that kid. But take it from a guy who knows. . .you should make the most of the opportunities life gives you."

Scott regarded Logan curiously. "Somehow, the idea of you in love doesn't seem right."

"You insinuating something One-Eye?"

"No, I'm just saying, you don't seem like the lovey-dovey type."

"Ha!" Logan took a step back so he could get a full look at his bike and admire their handiwork. "You'd be surprised."


	5. Chapter 5

_Finally. _

Jean took a step back and looked at her handiwork. The entire front hall of the Institute was covered in patriotic ribbons and miniature flags. She'd wanted to put some red, white and blue mobiles up on the ceiling, but Logan had said that was where he drew the line. No matter, this looked nice enough.

Jean was especially proud because putting up all these decorations had given her a chance to work on developing her powers. And she had. If she needed to put a flag up on a high shelf that she couldn't reach, she could just float it up telekinetically. Truth be told, it was the most invigorating feeling she'd ever had. Being able to manipulate objects with her mind was almost too good to be true.

Of course, she was nowhere near talented enough to repeat the feat she'd done when her powers had first emerged, but she would be able to someday. Her steady progress under Xavier's tutelage was more than enough testimony to that fact.

She checked the clock. It was 9:00 in the evening. Perhaps she could still catch some fireworks. . .

"Yes, perhaps you could," remarked Xavier from behind her.

Jean turned around. "Hi Professor."

"Hello yourself." Xavier surveyed the room approvingly. "Commendable job decorating," he said, "although I'm not sure I recognize this place anymore."

Jean beamed at him. "I'll take that as a compliment!"

Scott walked in then from the kitchen after having washed the dinner dishes. "Something's different about this room," he said.

"I'm surprised you can tell," Jean said, impressed. "I put some decorations up."

"For the 4th of July?"

"Yep. Just finished too." Jean wiped her hands together. "I wish you could see them Scott."

"Yeah," said Scott, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Me too. . ."

The sound of the doorbell halted any further conversation they might have had on the matter. "I'll get it," Jean volunteered, heading for the door. She pulled it open to reveal

a rather tall middle aged man whose hair was just beginning to gray. He wore slim sun glasses, a beige trenchcoat, and carried a suitcase in his left hand. And he looked surprised.

"Um hello," Jean ventured.

The look of confusion did not go away. "This is the Xavier mansion?" It was more a question than a statement.

"Yes."

"Who are you?"

Jean was about to answer when she saw Xavier wheel over to the door in her peripheral vision.

"Relax Gerald," Xavier said. "You have the right place. This just a new student of mine, Jean Grey."

Dr. Philips looked down at Jean after stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "Hello then, Jean."

"Hi."

The man set his briefcase down and took off his sunglasses. "I'm sure you must be wondering why I'm here."

Xavier smiled and tapped his head. "Not really, old friend."

"Ah, of course. There isn't much a telepath has to wonder about, is there?" Philips looked around. "Is there any place where we could all sit down?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "The dining room table should be fine.

Philips watched with keen interest as Scott deftly maneuvered around objects that he couldn't possibly be able to see. He knew that blind people often learned their way around familiar places, but it never ceased to amaze him how much Scott had adapted to a non-sighted life.

Once they were all seated, Dr. Morris set his briefcase graciously down on the table and opened it. "As you know Scott, I've been experimenting with different types of quartz stones in my efforts to give you your sight back.

"Did you find something new?" Scott could barely keep the excitement out of his voice.

"Yes, a breakthrough in fact. I had estimated that it would take me quite a bit longer to come across the right type of stone, but I have found it nonetheless. Ruby quartz, it turns out, is our winner. Amazing stuff. In and of itself, it has no unique properties. But if my tests are any indication, they should completely neutralize your optic beams. I would go through all the intricate details of how that takes place, but I think you would rather actually test it than listen to a bunch of scientific jargon. So I have fashioned a set of eyeglasses made purely from ruby quartz coated with a special catalyst." He plucked a pair of stylish red sunglasses out of his open briefcase. "It should work, but I doubt if this would be a suitable environment to test it."

"The Danger Room should be," Scott said. He was doing a good job of hiding his enthusiasm and impatience, but that didn't mean he felt it any less.

Scott eagerly led the way to the hidden passage that took one to the hidden sub-levels beneath the Institute. The place reminded Philips of a hospital for some reason. The air was sterile and Philips sensed it was recycled.

"Danger Room dead ahead," Scott announced suddenly. He reached a hand out to the wall, felt around for a moment, and then found the fingerprint ID sensor. It took one quick press of his thumb against the red sensor screen to open the massive triple layered doors to the Danger Room.

"What happened to the robots?" Jean asked. Not surprising really, since the last time she had been in the Danger Room, it had been full of fifteen foot tall killer robots.

"It was just a simulation," Scott answered

"You mean it wasn't real?"

The Professor stopped the conversation with a swift gesture of his hand. "Jean, later on I'll explain to you how the Danger Room works. In the meantime, lets find out about this ruby-quartz."

Dr. Philips gave Xavier a quick nod of thanks. "Okay, lets see. How do we do this? Uh, Scott, you're gonna need to take your blindfold off. Make sure your eyes are closed shut."

Scott had looked forward to this moment for a long time. Now that it was here, he found himself almost afraid. Afraid that it wouldn't work. No, it had to work. How could it not, when he was so close?

"Scott?"

He snapped back to reality. "Uh yeah. Maybe everybody should stand back." He held out his hand and Philips placed the ruby-quartz lenses into his open palm. His heart was pounding a hole in his chest. He just wanted to get this over with. _C'mon_, he silently pleaded.

"Go on," Xavier said.

Scott gulped. The switch was almost instantaneous. He undid the blindfold, whipped it off, and slammed the new pair of shades on in about two seconds.

He opened his eyes.

And miraculously, _beautifully_, nothing happened. The glasses didn't go flying off or get incinerated. But he could see, albeit in a strange shade of red. He could see the floor, the walls, the ceiling. He held out his hand and looked down at it. He could see his hand!

He heard Xavier chuckle behind him. "Well, it appears we have a success."

"It worked?" Jean asked, unable to contain the excitement in her voice either. She'd probably been as hopeful about it as Scott.

Slowly, she walked around so she was facing him. Scott looked different with the dark red shades. Cooler almost. She angled her head to the side. "You can see me, right."

Scott could. My _God, she's gorgeous! _was his first thought.He just barely managed to stop himself from saying it aloud, "Yeah, I-I can see you!" he blurted. "You're . . .there. I can see you."

"Oh Scott, that's great. I'm so happy for you."

Xavier chuckled at the exchange. He looked up at Dr. Philips. "Well, apparently, your theory was correct. Thank you, for all of this Gerald, we appreciate your help so much."

"The least I could do Xavier," the doctor assured him. "The least I could do."

***

It was on the third ring that Mrs. Grey picked up the telephone later that night. "Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Jean?!"

"Yeah, yeah-its me."

"Oh Jean. Tell me, how is everything going over there in Westchester?"

"Great. Its going great."

"Really?"

"Yeah mom. I can move things with my mind. I've gotten better at it."

"That's incredible honey."

"Yeah, I can't believe it. The school is so huge. I've been here this long and I doubt I've seen half of it. Next week is the freshman orientation for Bayville High too."

"You sound as if you like it. That's good."

"Yeah, its good."

Jean's mom let out a deep breath. "Did I tell you that your father got a new job?"

"Wait, really?"

"Yes, he's been working on that novel, you know, the one about the criminal mastermind who turns good."

Jean faintly remembered her father working on a manuscript every now and then. "I think I know what you're talking about. Acacia Spiel or something like that."

"Yes, that's the name. Anyway, he sent the manuscript in to a publishing company, and they mailed back saying that they want to turn it into a book. He gets what's called a royalty or something like that. Oh, I forget. But anyway, they sent him a check for a ten thousand dollars up front, before it even gets published."

"I didn't know dad was that good!"

"He's a great writer, and he loves doing it."

"Aww, that's fantastic mom!" Jean exulted. With all the good things that had happened today, she wondered if she might turn on the television to find out that world peace had been found or something.

"He'd be glad to hear you say that hon," her mom was saying. Oh by the way, how is Scott doing?"

"Incredible. He just got some new ruby-quartz sunglasses."

The implication was lost on Mrs. Grey.

"They enable him to see" Jean explained. He can see now, without his optic beams destroying everything. The sunglasses are made out of ruby-quartz or something like that. The lenses neutralize the energy from his eyes." Jean giggled. "Not mention how cute he looks in 'em."

On the other end of the phone, Mrs. Grey rolled her eyes. Part of her wished that her daughter didn't have to be interested in boys and the like just yet. On the other hand, it was a miracle that Jean even confided to her mother about such things. No reason to take _that_ for granted, especially since it probably wouldn't be the case for long.

They spent another hour on the phone, sharing stories and planning for Jean's next visits. And as they talked, the doubts that Mrs. Grey had had slowly faded. Jean seemed at home in this new environment. In a place where she could truly grow, and learn to cope with these new powers of hers. It wasn't a life that she would have wished on her only daughter, but with the Professor's help, she knew inside that Jean was truly in good hands. . .


	6. cHAPTER 6

"Hello, and we're back on today's special episode of _Feel for the Nation_. With me is distinguished Sen. Robert Kelly, of the Conservative Genetics Research Institute. Now in case you're just tuning in, the topic of discussion was one particular issue that in the past few years had gradually become more and discussed in many different circles." The pretty young talk show host with a couple pounds of makeup on turned to Senator Kelly.

"The issue is mutants," Kelly said plainly. "Genetic abnormalities that corrupt the genetic sequence, inexplicably introducing genetic codes and information for a plethora of never before seen traits in humans. Powerful traits, ones that pose a threat to us normal humans.

"Now this term 'mutants', its something you would expect to see in a science fiction movie, right?"

The medium height, distinguished looking man with hair just starting to gray laughed. "Yes, but make no mistake, mutants are a very real, and very dangerous threat."

"And Mr. Kelly, you believe they are walking among us, posing as normal humans," said the news host.

"Yes I do," he confirmed. 'The evidence just overwhelmingly points to this. Last week in northern Russia, a young man is crossing the street, only to be hit by a speeding SUV. Five different eyewitness reports and they all say the same thing. There is an explosion, yet the boy runs away with no apparent injuries and his skin seems to have taken on a metallic form. The week before that, right here in the United States, an elderly couple and their nursemaid swear to have seen a man flying through the sky with wings, believe it or not. That same day in Germany, a father and son came running scared out of an amusement park restroom, claiming they saw a demon appear from nowhere in a puff of smoke. The cases have become more rare, since the mutants have become more adept at covering their tracks, but the evidence is still clear. One or two, we might dismiss them as made up or over-active imagination. The dozens upon dozens of such reports that exist though cannot be ignored."

"Pardon me, but aren't there more UFO than mutant sightings ever year. Should we also look out for aliens, Mr. Kelly?"

Kelly frowned. "Well, that isn't my particular area of expertise."

The reporter chuckled. "Come now Senator, it's a simple question. You claim that mutants walk among us, hiding in the shadows until one day, they can defeat humanity."

Senator Kelly did not object. How could he? He had, after all, written that exact thing in his recently published book, which sat on the table between him and the host.

"Yet, there are people out there who thing aliens walk among us as well, waiting for global domination. Why should your idea be given any more credibility?"

"Scientific evidence," sputtered Kelly. He reached onto the chair beside him and picked up a sheaf of papers. "Aliens have never been credibly observed. There is very little scientific evidence that corroborates with UFO's and such nonsense. Mutants on the other hand. . .The top geneticists all agree, the appearance of a new mutation in humans, while it may sound incredible, is in fact not all that unbelievable. In fact, a decade ago, a geneticist name Christopher Thornton published an experiment he had conducted using a computer to model that simulated the collective human genome. He did exhaustive research, factoring in every variable that could possibly be accounted for. His conclusion was that a new type of mutation had emerged in rare occurrences all over the globe. Reports came from everywhere. In Africa, a reliable story of a native Goddess who could actually manipulate weather for example. The most important prediction he made though, was that these 'mutant sightings' were increasing and would increase exponentially somewhere around the year 2000. He was ridiculed and laughed at, but you know what?"

"What?" the news host obliged.

"He was precisely right! It is a documented fact that occurrences of superhuman feats have drastically increased in the last two or three years. We need to face the fact that mutants live here, on this planet and even in this country, with good citizens like you and I. They fly, decimate city blocks just by yelling, some can even manipulate our thought processes. Now honestly, do you want your sons and daughters going to school with the walking, talking equivalent of ticking time bombs. Do you want to live in fear of your next door neighbor, who may or may not decide to blast your house down with mutant energy beams and terrorize your family? I don't, and I have a strong suspicion that neither do the American people."

"Speaking of which," the news host interjected. "What of the rumors that you are considering entering the presidential race on the Republican ballot?"

"They are just that," said the Senator. "Rumors. I have given the prospect consideration, but I am far from actually deciding to run-"

_Click _

Xavier reached over to the remote and tuned his office television off. He could sense that Jean was approaching, and certainly did not want her to see what was going on, not that she wouldn't find out anyway. He sighed. "Somehow, he'd hoped that mutants would be able to live with some degree of normalcy, and right now, that dream still looked attainable. But it wouldn't be for long of anti-mutant bigots like Kelly kept popping up, trying to paint mutants as bloodthirsty monsters. One did not need to be a telepath to know that Senator Robert Kelly would do everything in his power to persecute mutants, and that he intended to do so from inside the Oval Office. Xavier shuddered at the thought of such a man being President of the USA.

There was a knock on the door.

"Professor, its me," Jean called from the other side.

"Come in Jean," said Xavier, trying to erase the signs of worry and tension from his face.

The door opened and in stepped his second pupil, who was wearing her hair up in a simple ponytail today. The instant she saw Xavier, her brow furrowed. "Professor, is something wrong."

"No, nothing is wrong."

"You sure don't look like it."

Xavier straightened in his wheelchair a fraction of an inch. "I am tired, that is all." Eager to change the subject, he asked politely, "Did you need something?"

"Well yeah, I had wanted to ask you if I could go to the Bayville Mall, maybe get a new outfit or something."

"And you've done your mental exercises?"

"Finished 'em hours ago," Jean said proudly.

Xavier nodded. "It's alright with me then."

Jean beamed at him. "Thank you Professor." She turned, sending her long red ponytail into a graceful arc. She was almost out the door when she paused and turned back around. "One more thing," she began, "can I bring Scott?"

"Why?"

Jean blinked. "Uh, I don't know, I just thought it would be cool to show him the mall, you know, seeing as how he's never been . . ."

"Do you think Scott would be interested in going to a mall?"

"I hope so. If not, I'll convince him."

Xavier allowed himself a smile. Scott was not the kind of kid who liked to hang around shopping malls, but if his eyes served him correctly, Scott was the kind of kid who liked to hang around a certain Jean Grey. Somehow, Xavier didn't think she'd have to do much convincing. "Sure," he said. "If Scott wants to go with you to the mall, I don't have a problem with that."

"Thanks Professor!"

***

Scott was in his room listening to the _Lone Ranger _and drawing something on a sketch pad when Jean found him. As had become normal for her during her stay at the institute, Jean called upon her telekinetic powers and gave a little nudge to the slightly open door, allowing her enough room to come in.

"Nifty talent there," commented Scott without, still intent on his work.

"Thank you," Jean replied. She plopped down on the bed next to him and looked over at the sketchpad. "What are you drawing?"

Scott turned off the tape player and then tilted the picture towards her so she could see. "My parents."

"You remember them?"

Scott took a while to answer, as if he were carefully considering his words. "Some. I kind of remember what they look like, like they were in a dream almost."

Jean peered once more at the drawing. Clearly, Scott 'was no kind of expert, but the painstaking attempt at a portrait was impressive considering that he'd spent half his life in self-imposed blindness. Fascinated, she took a moment to watch him sketch out more details before suddenly remembering the reason for her visit.

"I was thinking," she began, making sure she had his attention before continuing. "That is, I was going to go to the mall, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me."

Scott, to his credit, looked nonplussed. He angled his head, as if deep in thought. "Sure," he said, "I guess I've got time. What did you want to shop for?"

"Clothes, especially since the first day of school is coming up." Jean grinned and hopped off the bed, tugging playfully on his arm. "C'mon, it'll be fun!"

Scott relented. How could he not, with those beautiful eyes of hers practically begging him to say yes. "Okay, Okay. Just let me put this drawing up."

"Great. So I was thinking we could stop by the food court first, and then head over to the electronics, saving clothes and stuff for last."

"I don't have a problem with that," said Scott. He stood up and self- consciously touched his streamlined ruby-quartz eyewear. "Do you think I'll attract too much attention?"

Jean knew what he was referring to and emphatically shook her head. "No way. First of all, the shades look incredibly cool, trust me. Second, there'll be tons of people wearing sunglasses. You'll fit right in."

Scott put on his black wristband, the only thing she never saw him without (excluding the sunglasses of course). "Lets go then."

***

Xavier was glad to know that Scott and Jean were having a good time. He did a quick mental scan. They were still in the mansion, although they wouldn't be for long. He briefly wondered if maybe he should send Logan with them, but the notion vanished as soon as it had come. Scott and Jean were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, and he had a feeling that they wouldn't appreciate Logan's presence in the slightest.

It was the more serious matters at hand that caused him the most concern. First and foremost was Senator Kelly's growing popularity. He was getting bolder and bolder with his radical anti-mutant views. And worst of all, people were starting to listen.

There was something else though. A growing power that registered in the corners of his mind. It was a dark, foreboding presence that was growing in strength. And Xavier, for all his vaunted strength, could not get a good mental register on this new player in the vast psychic realm.

The force seemed familiar somehow, something else that was troubling. Xavier had only encountered one person in his life that could invoke this sort of psychic awareness in him.

Xavier prayed, for humanity's sake, that the world would never have to encounter the likes of Lensherr again.

Or as he was also known: Magneto


	7. Chapter 7

_Urisita, Bavaria _

_11:03 p.m. _

"She's a gypsy witch!" "Burn her!"

"I've got some kerosene! Where'd she go?"

"There, over the hill. Careful now men, her witchcraft is nothing to trifle with!"

Wanda Maximoff tried to ignore the howling of the mob that pursued her through the open field, but she could still hear them, the bloodlust in their voices. It terrified her, and she ran faster, feet pounding against the grass. The home that she, her brother, and their caretaker, Malrala, shared was not far away. If only she could reach it in time. . .

She burst through the door, ignoring the startled yelp from Malrala and running into her brother's room. She frantically shook him. "Brother! Brother! Wake up! Wake up Pietro!"

The silver-haired lad rolled over, a sharp retort on his lips, but all that was lost when he saw the utter seriousness in his sister's face and the tears in her eyes. "Wanda, what has

happened?"

"Went down to the market," she gasped, "and there were local farmers in a nearby tavern, drunk, and cursing the recent drought. One of them spotted me and yelled that I had probably used my hex powers to cause the drought. The farmers became riled up . . .formed a mob . . .they started chasing me."

"But that's ridiculous," sputtered Pietro. "You would never-"

"The influence of alcohol has induced many a man to irrational actions . . .irrational thoughts," said Malrala from the doorway. She bore a grave look on her aged face. "The mob has the house surrounded."

"What can we do?"

"Get out! Quickly! They plan to burn the house to the ground."

A torch sailed through the kitchen window, instantly igniting the wooden room and creating noxious smoke. Scowling, Pietro outstretched his hand, whirling his arm as fast as he could. His efforts did some to dissipate the smoke, but he still found himself coughing on the fumes.

Twice he stumbled before managing to lead his sister and the woman who had been like a mother to him for most of his life through the back door . . .just in time too, as the small house burst completely into flame right after the trio's escape.

Malrala had been right, the house was surrounded. Some of the mob carried pitchforks, others sticks, others torches, but all bore the same look of blind hatred in their eyes. The recent drought had plunged them into abject poverty and hardship, and they needed someone to blame. That coupled with the townspeople's' hatred for the gypsies was more than enough ignite the flames of violence.

One of them stepped forward, apparently the leader. His torch cast an ominous glow about his deeply lined features. "Give us the girl, gypsy boy," he commanded, his voice holding more lucidity than his companions.

"Leave them alone," Malrala commanded. "The children have done you no harm."

"That so? Well, the way I see it, yon gypsy witch girl caused this drought."

"You have no proof of this!"

"We haven't had a drought this bad in centuries, you decrepit old hag! We've all seen that girl use her hex powers before, and now she's done the same to our crops and our water. Now give her here, or we hurt you real bad."

Pietro assumed a defiant stance, eyes blazing. He had long since counted the exact number in the mob, thirty-three. "We have done nothing to you. You are drunk, and would not behave this way if-"

A rock caught him in the forehead just then, pitching him back. White hot pain seared through his scalp and when he put a hand to the wound, it came away wet with crimson blood.

Wanda had seen enough. She whirled upon the person who had thrown the stone, her hands forming themselves into strange gestures, the words of long forgotten languages emanating from her lips. The result was devastating. Scarlet lances of energy shot out of her hands, hurtling through the air and striking the assailant. An audible cracking sound resonated, and blood spurted from his mouth and nose. His head went slack, drooping oddly to one side, and he summarily fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath his body.

Wanda gasped, cursing herself for being so foolish. She still didn't have control over her hex powers, and she had just killed a man by using them so eagerly.

"Get them!" the leader yelled, raising the large knife he held in his head and charging at the trio. Even at that moment, Wanda knew she and Pietro wouldn't be able to hold them off.

Suddenly though, the mob's weapons were plucked right out of their hands, as if by some invisible force. Wanda watched dumbfounded as the leader's own knife flew out of his grasp and floated to his neck, the blade a hairsbreadth away from his throat. The other men seemed to be faced with the same predicament, as their own weapons were suddenly turned against them.

"Leave," said a deep, commanding voice from above. Wanda's gaze flew up, where she a man levitating in the air. He wore a long purple cloak which swayed gently in the breeze and did not obscure his powerful frame. He wore crimson and purple body armor, gloves, boots, and helmet, which shadowed all of his face the eyes, which burned like embers.

The leader scowled and made a lunge for Wanda. At least, it would have been a lunge if he had managed to follow through, which he didn't. He hadn't even reached mid-stride in fact, when the levitating knife bland whipped silently across his throat. His hands went immediately to his neck, but the trachea and carotid had been completely severed. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The others ran, their anger replaced by a different emotion- fear. The man floating in the sky waited until the last one was gone before he let the weapons drop to the ground. He slowly descended until he was standing directly in front of Wanda, Pietro, and Malrala.

Wanda blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You-you killed him," she whispered.

The man glanced back at where the corpse of the man whose throat he'd slit lay. "He would have killed you, Wanda," he stated.

Pietro did not miss the fact that this stranger had addressed his sister by name, but did not mention it, afraid of sounding foolish in front of this obviously powerful figure. "Who are you?"

"My name," said the man, "Is Magneto."

***

_Bayville Mall _

"So what's school like?" asked Scott, sipping a diet coke.

"Pardon?" asked Jean, who had been munching on her own French fries."

"School, I wanted to know what its like."

"Oh." Jean set the fry platter down. "Well I personally don't know about high school since I'll be starting my first year myself. In general though, school can be either a good experience or a bad one. I mean, it al depends on the attitude that you go in with. If you come to school ready to introduce yourself, meet new people, make new friends, get involved in activities, and try to learn something, it can be a really good experience."

"That what you did?"

Jean smiled. "Well yeah, I did, kinda. Just went in there, tried to be nice, worked my butt off, and I suppose I got out OK." She sighed. "Kids can be really mean though, Scott. Especially in school. Anyone who's different, they may as well have a sign on their back that says 'hey, pick on me!'. "I'm not saying that's always the case, but it is a lot of the time."

"Speaking from personal experience again?"

Jean nodded. "Yeah. Unfortunately, I was the one being cruel."

Scott's brows went up, he found that quite hard to believe.

"Seriously. Me and my friends, we would pick on this girl who had a speech impairment-stuttered real bad, y'know? Anyway, we made fun of her for it, mocked her, put mean notes in her locker, that kind of thing. And honestly, I didn't think much of it. It was what everyone else was doing, I just didn't realize how badly it must have hurt the girl, her name was Bridget, to have all her classmates make fun of her because of a simple stutter."

Scott looked down at the table. "What happened then?"

"She left. Right in the middle of second trimester. Her mom moved her to a private school in some other state, from what I heard anyway. The day after she left, the principal called an assembly and talked about teasing, mocking, and harassment. About how the school needed to have a 'student friendly' environment, and how even though we may not know it, our words can really be hurtful. It went in one ear and out the other for most of my friends, but it stuck with me for some reason." She propped her chin on her hands. "All this to say that kids can be mean, and no one is really above being a jerk, I guess. As for Bayville High though?" A shrug. "I've never even been there, but if its anything like my school, how kids treat you will have a lot to do with how you treat them. Unless there's a situation like Bridget's, in which case . . .you just have to try to deal with it I guess."

"Not very uplifting," Scott commented wryly.

Jean shrugged again. "Like I said, Bayville High may be totally different, in which case what I'm saying doesn't even apply. But it might not be, in which case you might as well be forewarned.

"True." Scott returned to his diet coke, slurping down the last remnants of soda before setting the cup down. "Any bookstores in this mall?"

"Yeah, a Barnes & Nobles right over there," Jean said, pointing upwards. "Why?"

"Well I kind of wanted to go there."

"Just to read books?"

"You probably wouldn't take reading for granted if you hadn't been able to read or see anything at all for most of your natural life."

"Point taken," Jean said, sincere understanding on her face. "By all means then, to the bookstore."

It was a relatively short walk, and they were at the mega-retailer in no time.

"Certainly smells nice," Jean commented. In truth, she was slightly overwhelmed by all the books. She hadn't really been in many bookstores, and while she knew in her mind that there would be books, she was still taken aback by the sheer volume. Books on everything from cooking to organizing to law to science to history to fiction. The place was huge, bigger than two libraries put together and squeezed into a third, she thought.

Then something caught her eye, a book with a soccer ball on the front along with the title, _101 Great Tips for Improving Your Game_. Intrigued she picked it up.

Meanwhile, Scott was wandering around the comics section, looking at all the colorful titles arrayed on the shelves. He had really come for some books on aeronautics and aircraft weapons systems for the designs for a new model of the X-Jet. Even though he hadn't really had any formal education, he had taken an interest in aircraft ever since arriving at the institute, and the simulation systems in the Danger Room had given him ample opportunity to practice his piloting skills to the point that theoretically, he could fly any aircraft about as well as any professional. Now though, he wanted to design an aircraft, custom-made to the specific needs of the Institute, and the needs it might have in the future.

Still, he had decided to peruse the comics section before getting t the technical stuff. Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, they were all there. The heroes, getting the glory and heroically defeating the bad guys, looking great while doing it. Superman even had laser vision, but he didn't have to worry about not controlling it.

But that was fiction, and he lived in reality, where superhuman powers were not all glamorous and fun and where extra abilities could be more of a curse than a blessing. In the realm of comics, the heroes were loved by all. In the real world, mutants had to keep their powers secret if they wanted to retain any vestige of normality.

Scott Summers was not the kind of kid to feel sorry for himself though, so he moved along, picking up the latest Batman issue. It was a pretty good read. Ten minutes later, he set the comic down, looking over his shoulder to quickly check on Jean. He smiled. For all of her seemingly negative attitudes towards bookstores, she seemed to have something interesting. That taken care of, he looked around for a store employee who could point him to books of the specific type he wanted. One woman walked past, and although she bore no label as an employee, she strode with quiet authority, which caught his eye. "Excuse me," he said.

The woman turned around. She was beautiful, with rich chocolate skin and finely rounded cheekbones, along with a mane of white hair that hung all he way down to the small of her back. It would have looked odd on any other person as young as this woman obviously was, early twenties or so, but somehow it seemed to fit her. She gave a congenial. "Yes?"

"I was wondering, do you work here, because I need to find a certain kind of book but I've never been here before."

The woman laughed. "No, I don't work here, but I'm sure I can help you, I frequent this place a lot."

"Well, I'm kind of looking for books about airplanes and jet designs."

The woman looked surprised. "Are airplanes designs a hobby of yours?"

"You could say that."

The woman arched an eyebrow, but proceeded to lead him down the vast aisles and rows of books until she reached a section that looked like what Scott was looking for. Books on aerodynamics, flight engineering, physics of flight, jet engines, military aircraft, etc. Scott looked up. "Thank you . . ."

"Ororo,' the woman provided. "Ororo Munroe. I just recently came here, to America, in the course of my studies."

"What are you studying?"

"Earth sciences. Weather patterns and stratospheric elements mostly."

"Do you plan to be a meteorologist?"

The woman shook her head. "No, not as a profession. But the topic does hold a certain . . .interest for me."

***

_Xavier Institute_

It was time for a little chat with an old friend.

Alone, secluded in his study, Charles Xavier reached out with the vast mental powers he possessed, tendrils of telepathy streaking towards their quarry. An Alpha level mutant, Magneto was by no means difficult to find.

~Hello, old friend.~

~What the- Charles?~

~You and I need to talk, Eric.~

~I don't have the time for one of your 'cooperation' speeches, Charles. Much more pressing matters are at hand.~

~In real time, this won't even take a second. Although if you're flying, I suggest you get something solid underneath you."

Knowing he had no real choice in the matter, Magneto floated down from his perch, landing softly to the ground. The instant his feet touched, his entire reality changed. The cold, Canadian landscape vanished, replaced by outer space. Or what looked like outer space. He could still breathe and was not freezing of course. He was on the astral plane, as close to limbo as you could get. Here, physical laws meant nothing, and anything was possible. Psychics often waged mental combat here, because death on the psychic plane meant brain death in the real world, making their battles no less effective than real world conflict.

~Welcome.~ The voice was familiar, but much more powerful than Magneto was used to. He turned around and there stood Charles Xavier, emphasis on _stood_. It occurred to Magneto then that he really shouldn't be surprised. Any physical limitations one had did not hold true on the psychic plane. And so Xavier stood, looking as fit and healthy as ever, perhaps even a little bit more muscular than he had been in real life.

~What do you want?~

~I want to know what you are up to, Eric. That's all.~

~I have no idea what you are talking about.~

~You're collecting mutants, old friend. Or was the incident in Bavaria merely an act of good will?~

~I'm collecting mutants?! You are hardly one to talk, Charles. First the homeless boy, then this Jean Grey, with powers so much like your own, and before them, the infamous Wolverine. . .~

~Our goals have never been the same. I take them in to help them, to teach them, and to protect them. I show them how to make peace with humans, not wage war with them. I am not naïve enough, however to ascribe such high- minded intentions to you.~

~You are correct. Unlike you, Charles, I no longer harbor the foolish notion that homo sapien and homo superior can co-exist. They fear us, Charles. They hate us, and will continue doing so forever. It's their nature, their inferior nature. All one needs to do is look at their television screen, where the media is cultivating anti-mutant hysteria, or in the government, where a certain prominent senator has made public statements against mutants. Is either us or them, and coexistence cannot last for long.~

~I see I was correct then, you are planning something.~

~You expect me to tell you what it is?~

~I could simply take the information from your mind.~

~But you won't. You'd never do something like that ,and it is one of your greatest weaknesses. Here, on the psychic plane you could destroy my astral form with a snap of your fingers and for all intents and purposes, I'd be dead. Both here and in the real world. You have so much power, and it is wasted, because you always hold back, never exploring its potential!~ Eric gave him a withering look. ~Yes, _Charles_, I have begun a search for mutants, fellow homo superiors who will aid me in my cause. Now if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to.~

~Do not force my hand, Eric.~

No, Charles. Don't force mine.~ With those words, reality reverted back to normal and Magneto found himself standing right where he'd landed. It took a fraction of a second to long for his brain to cope, and he stumbled, taking a good three seconds to regain his footing again. He scowled as he drew his cloak over his shoulders and strode towards the base's entrance where the boy and his sister were resting. They were powerful mutants, Wanda's powers of particular interest to him because they were so difficult to categorize. He suspected she might be-could be- the most powerful of them all. With these two by his side, both loyal to him for saving their lives, he would create an army of fellow mutants.

Charles Xavier, if he got in the way, would fall.

And so would America.


	8. Chapter 8

Logan strolled casually into the mall, trying not to betray the sense of urgency that had brought him here. Scott and Jean had been promised a nice, fun, relaxing trip to the mall. He was about to break that promise, Xavier's telepathic summons to bring the two home was laced with a sense of urgency he hadn't heard in a long time."

It was difficult to follow their scent, what with all the other people in the building, their own distinctive smells confusing the trail. However, Logan could get a feel for their general location. Purposefully, yet without drawing a lot of attention, he made his way through the mall.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Jean, each word coming out lower and lower. "I-it can't-" She stopped mumbling to herself and simply went to find Scott, her pace not a run, but certainly not a walk either. She had a silly grin on her face.

She found her friend talking to a strikingly beautiful older black woman with silver-white hair and piercing blue eyes. She halted suddenly, not wanting to intrude.

Scott noticed her presence though flashed her an inviting smile. 'Oh, hey Jean," he said. He turned to the older woman. "Ororo, this is my friend Jean. Jean, Ororo."

Jean gave the stunning woman a friendly smile. "Hey."

To her relief, Ororo smiled back warmly. "Its nice to meet you Jean."

"You as well." Jean was torn between her urge to show Scott what she had just seen and her natural inclination not to barge in on conversations. She was about to offer a quick apology and let Scott continue talking to Ororo when something in Ororo's hands caught her eye. She stared, tilting her head to get a better look.

Ororo seemed puzzled, but nonetheless held up the book for Jean to see. "Something wrong?" she asked.

"No, nothing wrong." The grin was back now. "Scott, that's what I wanted you to see."

"Ororo's book?" Now he was confused.

"Yes-no, not hers in particular, the book itself."

"It's new," said Ororo. "Written by uh, D.E. Greystone. Number one in a series called the Acacia Spiel Chronicles. Actually, I think today was the release-"

"He's my father," Jean said, accidentally cutting Ororo off.

"Acacia Spiel? I think she's a wo-"

"No, not Acacia Spiel," interrupted Jean for the second time. "D. E. Greystone!"

"You're kidding," said both Ororo and Scott simultaneously. Scott however stopped, short, a contemplative look replacing the one of disbelief. "You'd did say your dad was a novelist . ." he started.

"Yep, and my mom phoned me a few weeks ago to tell me about his book getting accepted. I can't believe its getting published this early though."

"Well," Ororo said, "I haven't read it yet, but from what I've heard, its excellent, and your father is a talented novelist you should be proud."

"There you are!"

The trio turned to face Logan, who was striding rapidly down the aisle. He didn't look angry . . .but there was definitely a sense of urgency in his voice and stance.

"Uh, hey Mr. Logan," Jean said. "What're you doing here?"

"Prof wants you two back at the Institute, told me to come find ya."

Jean's mouth dropped open in indignation. "What?! But you-but he promised!" she sputtered. "Promised that we could do this without any interruptions."

"Sorry kids, but that's the way the Prof wants it," Logan said, shrugging. It was then that he spotted Ororo. He didn't say anything, but his eyes communicated well enough. Who the heck're you? They seemed to say.

Ororo arched an eyebrow, down at that man who was few inches shorter than she. "Hello," she said genially, "My name's Ororo Mun-"

"Pleasure," said Logan sharply, cutting her off in mid-sentence. He turned back to Scott and Jean. "Make your purchases and let's go."

Jean was very good at perceiving body language, partly due to her perceptive nature and partly due to her telepathic talents. So while the flash of irritation that sparked in Ororo's eyes or the steel edge that came over voice may not have registered to some people, it certainly did to her. She herself was a little embarrassed at Logan's rudeness, and thought that whatever it was the Professor needed, it better be pretty damn important.

If Logan noted that he had had slightly angered Ororo, he didn't show it, just beckoned for the two kids to follow him, turned around, and began walking away. Jean gave a resentful sigh and turned back to Ororo, mouthing a quick 'I'm sorry' before waving goodbye and following.

Pretty damn important indeed. . .

***

"So let me get this straight," Jean said, her voice brimming with anger. "An old buddy of yours goes and saves two mutant kids in the middle of Bavaria, and that's like front page news or something? So what?"

"If you knew Magneto-"

"But I don't, and I probably never will, so I don't see what the big deal is."

"The 'big deal'," Xavier countered, is that Magneto is a madman, a mutant extremist whose wish is to see humanity fall and be subjugated under mutantkind."

"Mutantkind? You make it sound like there's a whole bunch of us," said Scott. It was the first thing he'd said since leaving the mall.

"There are, Scott. And they are emerging more powerful than ever. Do you think it's a coincidence that he should have happened to come along right when these two mutant siblings were about to be taken by the mob? If I know Magneto, he was probably instrumental in riling them up in the first place. And you see the result, he already has two very powerful mutants in his command, and they have no great reason to like humans, to state it mildly. He is not going to stop with them of course, there will be others. And I hate to imagine what he'll do with that kind of power."

"Why don't you tell us all about this Magneto person, Chuck," suggested Logan. He was leaning against the wall of Xavier's study, trying to ignore the daggers Jean was staring at him.

"Like I said, Magneto is . . . was. . . a very good friend of mine. We met in college, and were amazed to discover the existence of other mutants like ourselves. We would meet all the time, coming up with grand plans for the future, we even devised a way to way to locate other mutants and built a device that would do just that."

"What was it?"

Xavier smiled. "It was the predecessor to Cerebro, actually. It didn't require a telepath to operate, but as a consequence was nowhere near as powerful as the current version here at the Institute."

"Needless to say, Magneto-or should I say Eric, that was his real name- became more and more convinced that humans and mutants could not coexist peacefully. He argued that humans had not in the past coexisted with groups of people who were different, and there was no reason to think they would do so in the future. In a way, he had a point. I mean, from Slavery to the Japanese internment camps to even modern day xenophobia, examples of this idea are perfectly littered throughout our history."

"Then why do you not agree with him?" asked Jean.

"Because, I believe that humanity is capable of better good, just as they are capable of evil. And, like Martin Luther King and Mohandas Ghandi, I believe that violence is not the only solution, it only worsens problems tenfold when employed." Xavier paused. "We had a bit of a falling out-Eric and I. He left, and I have not heard from him since. . .Until recently that is. His actions became noticeable enough that that Cerebro picked him up, and then he brought two other young mutants into his ranks. That put me on alert. Eric never does something without having a reason. And he never does something this big without having some sort of scheme behind it."

Jean still didn't seem convinced. "So what're you afraid he'll do?" she asked. "Magnetize anti-human bumper stickers to the White House?"

"He is classified an alpha mutant, and possesses absolute dominance over the earth's entire magnetic field. I'm sure you've learned about magnetism in school, correct?"

"Yeah. It's a force that attracts metals, right?"

"Close enough. The basic fact is, there are trace metals in everything, water, grass, trees, your bodies, even down to the iron in your blood. With the degree of control he has over all things affected by magnetism (and there are few don't fit into that category), the question is what _can't _he do. And I am telling you that the answer is: very little."

"And I suppose we know what he wants," Scott said, sighing. He pushed off from against the wall. "So what do _you_ want us to do Prof? Go fight him?"

"No not yet. For now, we watch and wait, although I have a feeling we won't have to wait long."

***

"Sorry about that," Jean said to Scott later on. They were in the gym, sitting in the bleachers to be exact. It had been five hours or so since Xavier's summons and after doing their separate activities, the two had decided to play a game of basketball.

If Scott had possessed any ego before the game, it had certainly been annihilated now. Jean had worse than whipped him, she'd creamed him in basketball. 7-21 had been the exact score.

"Don't feel bad," Jean had told him as she joined him on the bleachers after the game, twirling the ball expertly on her fingers. "I play all the time, and I doubt you've ever held a basketball in your life."

Scott nodded, but he was still embarrassed, embarrassed enough to miss Jean's next statement, causing her to have to repeat it again.

"I said 'sorry"

Scott turned to her, a quizzical look on his face. "For what?"

"How things turned out. I mean, I really had no idea Logan would just yank us out of there like that, before I got to even show you half the stuff I wanted to."

"There'll be another time," said Scott confidently.

"There better be." Jean grinned. "God, I still need to show you Aeropostale, don't I?"

"Aeropostale?"

"The clothing brand. I mean, no offense Scott, but you could use some new clothes."

"Huh?"

"Every Monday, you wear the same outfit. Ditto for the rest of the days in the week. No, what we need to do is get you down to the mall or something, buy you some new threads, put a little _variety_ in that drab wardrobe of yours."

"If you say so. It wasn't you fault though, about us pulled back to the Institute. Professor Xavier just figured that this whole Magneto thing was more important I guess."

"I still don't see what the big deal about the guy is," Jean complained. "I mean, Magnetism? What kind of power is that?" She stood up, doing her best evil villain impersonation. "Mwuhhh huhuhuhuHAAAAAAAAAAAA! I veel magneetize your feet to zhe floor. Tremble beneazhe my incredibool might, puny humans!"

Scott laughed. "The accent was terrible, but I think that's actually a pretty handy power."

"Magentizing people's feet to the floor? Scott, I was only kidding."

"I know." Scott paused. "Look, I really don't know how powerful Magneto is, but I do know on thing, and that is that he's got the most powerful telepath in the world practically wetting his pants he's so scared. If the Prof is worried, I think we should be too."

Jean opened her mouth for a quick rebuttal, but nothing came out. There was nothing to say. Scott was right, the Prof was _worried_, and even though he tried to hide it, it was as plain as the baldness on his head. Maybe there was something to fear after all. . .

*************

_Canada_

Five days later in Ontario, Canada, Magneto found his third recruit, a prison inmate named Jason Wyngarde who could create incredibly lifelike illusions. Pietro had raced in and deactivated the security measures in the prison faster than you could say 'quicksilver'. The chaos was tremendous as every single jail cell suddenly broke open. A prison riot ensued, and in the confusion it was child's play to whisk Wyngarde away. He was in for espionage, and huge list of other federal crimes. His defense lawyer had completely bungled his defense, and he would have been spending a pretty long time in prison were it not for Magneto. As it was, the Master of Magnetism had no trouble convincing Wyngarde to join him.

And in the meantime, a plan was taking shape in Magneto's mind, a plot that he had spent decades devising. It was bold, daring, and completely unprecedented. But if it worked, it could bring America to its knees in a matter of weeks.

It would work, he would make sure of that.


	9. Chapter 9

The instant Ororo stepped into her house, she knew something was wrong. A mutant who was psionically attuned to the elements of the earth itself, she could sense the subtle shift in wind patterns, the slight thermal alteration that indicated the presence of more than just herself.

"Show yourself," she demanded, her hand moving towards the light switch.

"No need for that," said a voice, a shadow emerging from the darkness, a man wearing blood red body armor, a purple cloak, and a helmet that made it impossible to see any of his face save the eyes, which burned like embers. "We won't take up much of your time."

Three more figures stepped out from behind him. The first a girl, no more than fifteen years old who wore red, formfitting leather pants and a halter top, over which she wore a black and red trench coat. The outfit was completed by the black fingerless gloves and black combat boots.

To her right, a boy of similar age stood. He wore a blue uniform of some type underneath a type of white body armor that protected his chest, shoulders, and forearms. He wore white leather boots.

And lastly, a man with dark hair pulled backinto a thin ponytail, sunglasses, and a well-trimmed black goatee. He wore no distinctive uniform like the other, just a simple long-sleeved black shirt with grey pants and Gucci loafers. A diamond stud glistened in his right earlobe.

"You're not taking up any of my time," Ororo snapped. "Now I don't know who you are, but you had better leave now before I call the police."

"I'm sorry, how rude of me. I forgot to introduce myself," the cloaked man went on, as if he hadn't even heard Ororo. "My name is Magneto. This," he gestured to the girl in red, "is Scarlet Witch. The lad next to her is her twin brother, Quicksilver, and lastly," he gestured towards the man with the ponytail, "this is Mastermind."

"Why did you break into my house?"

"To chat," Magneto assured her. "Nothing more."

"Chat about what?"

"You."

"What _about_ me?"

"Your gift."

"What gift?"

"To be honest, I'm not quite sure what is yet. From my observations, I would venture to say that it was elemental control of some sort." Magneto smiled when he saw the panicked look on her face. "Not far off the mark, am I?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" Magneto smiled at her. He raised his right hand, stretching it towards her purse. Her brows furrowed, until her purse started wriggling. Then she was just plain freaked.

"What the-" The purse continued wriggling, until it floated right off of her shoulder. The zipper unzipped as if some invisible hand were performing the action, and out came her key ring, which floated right into Magneto's outstretched hand.

"You're not the only one with a gift," he said.

And then he, Pietro, Wanda, and Wyngarde, were gone.

***********

"We should have recruited her on the spot," commented Wyngarde later on. The four mutants were in Magneto's underground base, Haven. Magneto, as he often did, was locked away in his private headquarters, leaving the three 'Acolytes' as he had dubbed them to sit around.

"I hear she is quite powerful," remarked Wanda. "Magneto is right, we shouldn't rush her."

"We broke into her house, Magneto levitated her keys, and then we left before we could even tell the lady anything about us. She probably thinks we're nutcases."

"We've piqued her interest," argued Pietro. "She didn't know there were others like her. Now she does. We giver her time to think on it, let her hear some of the filth that that anti-mutant dirtbag Senator Kelly is spouting, and she'll run to us with open arms."

"Unless Xavier gets to her first."

"If she's the type to be swayed by his empty dreams of peace, then she is not worthy to be part of our Brotherhood," said Pietro confidently.

Magneto, listening from his private quarters, smiled. _Exactly_. His attention though, was fixed on the television where a newscaster was announcing that the president intended to visit Manhattan for an early reelection speech.

_Perfect. _

_*****************_

_Xavier Institute_

Charles Xavier removed the Cerebro helmet and gently set it down. He had monitored the entire situation in Ororo's house telepathically and knew that he would have to act soon. Ororo would have to choose a side, sooner rather than later. Knowing Magneto, the choice would soon be taken from her.

It was time that he and Logan paid Ororo a visit.

****************

Ororo didn't show up for class the next day, so shaken was she over what had transpired the day before. They _knew_. They knew all about her. Her gifts . . . _everything_. They were evil, at least the leader was. Ororo was very good at judging a person's character and there was no doubt in her mind that this one was anything but wicked to the core. What frightened her though, was the power she had sensed emanating from him. Somehow, she knew she hadn't seen the last of him, or his lackeys.

The doorbell rang and she stiffened straight as a rod, a knot forming in her throat. She slowly climbed out of bed, threw on a bathrobe and some slippers, and trotted down the stairs and to the front door. Already in her free hand, charged particles were beginning to coalesce. . .she would make sure that if those creeps were back again they'd have a couple hundred million volts of lightning to contend with.

She looked out of the peephole and, to her surprise, saw a bald man in a wheelchair along with the hands of whoever was pushing him. Her gaze went up to see the rest of the second man and a pang of familiarity hit her. He was the rude guy from the bookstore!

Still, it wasn't Magneto and the bald man looked interesting, as if there were more to him than met the eye. She allowed the crackling energy she'd been gathering to dissipate, and then opened the door slightly, poking her head through. "Can I help you?" she asked, making a point to pretend as if the second man (Logan if she remembered correctly) did not exist.

"Yes, Ororo, and we you. "May we come in?"

He knew her name. That caused Magneto to pop back into mind. There was something different about this man though. He didn't seem threatening at all, somehow. She would hear him out. . .

***********

Jean had her wardrobe selected: a pink halter top with beige cargo pants and comfortable sandals. Usually, her selections weren't that simple but when she had tried the combination, she sensed that it was perfect for her. Her deep red hair was neat and straight and hung freely down her back. Her makeup had been carefully applied, and a gold bracelet on her left wrist completed the ensemble. Hopefully, she thought, she would make a good impression on her first day of school

.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to see Scott coming down to join. He was dressed in beige khakis, a red shirt, and over that a blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He'd traded his old goggle-like ruby-quartz shades for a sleeker, trendier pair, and he'd also gotten a haircut.

"You look nice," said Jean sincerely when he reached the first floor.

"You too," Scott said, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit. "Little strong on the perfume there though."

"You can never have too much perfume," said Jean. "That's my philosophy."

Scott chuckled. "Mine's just the opposite." C'mon, we'd better get to the bus stop."

"Where is it?"

"Right in front of the mansion." Scott led the way out and onto the sidewalk. Thankfully, the bus was early in coming and they didn't have to wait long to get on.

"So you guys rich or something?"

Jean turned around, craning her head so she could see the seat behind her where a pretty girl about her age with long dark hair and a blue tank top sat. "Why do you ask that?" Jean inquired.

The girl shrugged. "I dunno. You guys were standing outside that one mansion on GreyMalkin Lane when the bus came. Its not exactly a low rent apartment."

"We live there," said Scott, joining the conversation, "but I don't really think of myself as rich."

"Oh, I wouldn't hold it against you if you were," said the girl. "Just curious. First day's as good a time as any to learn about new people, right?" She tilted her head to the side, as if to peer closer at Scott. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Scott, and this is Jean," he said gesturing towards his friend.

"Oh, hi Jean," said the girl. She didn't seem as enthusiastic as she had when addressing Scott, Jean noticed. The girl back at Scott. "My name's Taryn."


	10. Chapter 10

Magneto's fourth recruit, St. John Allerdayle, was a bit more difficult. But the potential? _Extraordinary_. Magneto could feel it as he watched the kid, the vast power just seeking to be released. With the proper tutelage, it would be.

The kids was the leader of one of the largest street gangs in Sydney Australia. Unimaginatively called the Destroyers, he and his band of followers were wanted all throughout Australia for crimes ranging from grand theft auto to second degree murder.

The problem? No one could get close enough to the fiery-haired young man to even think about arresting him. Those that had all met the same inexplicable fate, their charred and burned corpses found lying on the street.

Of course, it wasn't all that inexplicable. The kid had a mutant power. Magneto knew that even without the Cerebro technology. Perhaps it was flame generation. Or maybe it was simply a psionic control over fire. Either way, he would be a great asset. Whether he wanted to be or not.

Unusual this day was that Magneto was not wearing his normal battle armor but instead, was actually dressed in normal clothes, a plain, flannel shirt and blue jeans. And walking in a part of town that made most slums look like Jamaican resorts. For most anyone, it was pretty much a guarantee to get robbed, at the very least. And that's what he was counting on.

He hadn't been walking for five minutes when he first noticed he was being followed. He kept walking. His pursuer was soon joined by three others who were spreading out, evidently attempting to trap him. There was probably a dead end a few blocks up.

_Wrong_. The dead end was just around the corner, something that Magneto realized right when he turned it. One pursuer had turned into ten and now they blocked the only way out of the alley.

"You lost, or just plain stupid, mate?" the leader asked. He was Allerdayle alright, the flaming red hair and Aussie accent were unmistakable.

"I was looking for you," Magneto said calmly.

"Ah, Just stupid then. I almost feel bad for yeh mate." St. John, made an abbreviated motion with his hand, clearly some type of signal. "Almost."

Two of the thugs began advancing toward Magneto, single-minded determination in their eyes. They were wearing steel knuckles, which would have been a good idea except that they were up against a master of magnetism.

The first one made a move to grab him by the shoulders, an effort that Magneto thwarted easily, simply deflecting the two outstretched arms away from his body. Then he hit him. Twice. One right hook and then a left one that completely spun the thug around. He chopped him on the back of the neck and the man dropped like so much dead weight.

If the second thug, who topped Magneto by about a foot, was fazed he didn't show it. He threw a surprisingly fast roundhouse that Magneto stopped by chopping him on the inside of the elbow in midswing. Then he kicked the big guy in the groin. Hard.

Time for a little show of power. Magneto reached out with his magnetism and took hold of the steel knuckles that this hoodlum was wearing.

WHAM! He slammed the steel, (still attached to the guy's fist), right into his jaw. Something broke, and it wasn't the steel knuckles. The rest of the gang watched in horrified amazement at what could only look like their teammate punching the crap out of himself. Again. Again. Again. It was downright bizarre.

After the seventh or so punch, Magneto released his magnetic hold. His opponent teetered off balance before finally falling, teeth and bloods spitting from his mouth.

John Allerdayle raised a brow at the two members of his gang who were now lying unconscious. He still wasn't sure what the stranger had done to his fallen compatriot, making him knock himself unconscious.

"Destroyers, leave!" he snapped after a silent decision.

"What? You gonna let him get away with-"

"No. I'll handle him. The rest of you leave."

No movement.

"NOW!" he roared.

The remaining seven thugs glared at Magneto, but ultimately obeyed their boss's command. When they had all cleared out, dragging their two unconscious cohorts with them, Allerdayle finally spoke.

"Those were some nice moves, mate."

Magneto shrugged. "I try."

The stranger had an interesting voice. An interesting posture. Regal, almost as if he was above everyone else (or at least considered himself to be).

"You hadn't done that though, I might've let you live," said Allerdayle. "Now though . . ." He pulled out a Zippo. Lit it, and let the flame grow, spiraling around him.

Magneto looked unimpressed. "Come on. Try, if you think can."

"You're brave, mate. I'll give you that. Too bad you'll be a brave corpse."

Magneto smiled as the flames grew closer. Yes, Allerdayle would be a very good asset indeed. As soon as he learned who was the true master. . .

****

Jean's first class was 2D Art, which she shared with Taryn, the girl from the bus. Taryn was nice, and more than happy to befriend the new girl, a position Jean hadn't found herself in in quite some time.

Their first assignment was to divide into pairs and draw their partner, using specialized drawing pencils, which the teacher provided. "It's an indicator for me," said. Ms. Belfry, the art instructor. "I simply need to see where you are in terms of talent."

Taryn nudged Jean. "Partners?"

Jean smiled. "Um, sure. I'll go get us some paper and-"

"I'll get the pencils," finished Taryn.

As she walked over to the front, Jean couldn't help smiling to herself. She had a good feeling she'd just made a friend.

The two returned to their table, sitting across from each other. "Here," said Taryn, handing Jean her pencil."

Jean looked it over, frowning. "Um, I think it's broken."

"Looks fine to me."

"But it doesn't have an eraser."

"Very few art pencils do." Taryn pulled out two pink erasers. "Here," she said, handing one to Jean. "You need to erase, just rub that on the paper and-"

"I know how to use an eraser," Jean chuckled. Then with a sigh, she said. "Not much else though. Art is more Scott's department."

"He's the kid with the sunglasses."

"Yep."

"Pretty cute too, huh."

"Yep." The reply was instinctive and Jean didn't even realize what she'd agreed to until a few seconds later. "I mean, huh?"

"You heard me." Taryn began etching a rough outline of Jean.

"Well I suppose so," stammered Jean, "if you wanted to look at him that way."

"Yeah," said Taryn nodding in agreement. "And you guys live together."

"You could say that."

Taryn chuckled, looking down at her picture as she began fleshing out details. "Where you from, Jean?" Taryn inquired. "On the bus, you said you'd only been at the Xavier school for part of the summer."

"Yeah, I used to live a while away. Went to a different school and everything."

"Why'd you move?"

Jean hesitated. She had no reason to distrust Taryn, but Xavier had warned her of discussing Institute business. "I had a problem. The Professor there knew how to help."

"Did Scott have a problem too?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Anything to do with those sunglasses he's always wearing?"

Jean hesitated once more. "He had. . ._has_ an eye condition," she said finally.

"And what about you? What was your problem?"

Jean couldn't help but smile at the girl's frank curiosity. "Mine was more of a mental problem."

Tarn's eyes went wide. "Do you have ADD?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Attention Deficit Disorder. My cousin has it."

"Oh, well no, it's a bit more complex than that."

"Ah." Thankfully, Taryn didn't pry. Instead, she concentrated back on her picture, touching up the image. "What do you think?"

Jean looked up. Taryn was holding her piece of paper out Jean to see. The picture was good. _Very_ good. It was only a portrait, but Jean could definitely see herself in the image that Taryn had created. "That's . . .amazing," Jean told Taryn honestly.

"Thanks. Its definitely you, Jean," beamed Taryn.

Jean held her own up. "Mine isn't that good."

Taryn peered over at Jean's work in progress. "You're right," she declared. "its not."

Jean gave a mock scowl and playfully threw an eraser at Taryn which the dark haired girl dodged, laughing. The eraser hit a blond, muscular boy at another table. He froze when the eraser bounced off of the side of his head and plopped on his table, whirling around, eyes searching for the perpetrator.

"Sorry," called Jean. "I didn't mean to hit you . . .I'm really sorry."

The blond boy said nothing for a moment. He just stared at her, hard enough to make Jean feel more than a little uncomfortable.

"Um, could I have my eraser back?" She went on.

The blond boy flashed what had to be the most arrogant smirk Jean had ever seen. "Sure babe," he replied. Except instead of tossing it back, he stood up and walked over to Jean's table. "Hey," he said in what he must have thought was a very attractive manner. "You new here Gorgeous?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "My name's Duncan, and yours is?"

Jean frowned. Yes, this guy was handsome, but his attitude, his air of superiority annoyed her. "My eraser, please," she said coldly.

He waved it temptingly in front of her. "Just a name babe."

"Fine. Its Jean. Not 'babe'."

The eraser clattered on her table. "Some other time." He winked, and then swaggered back to his own table.

When Jean looked back at Taryn, she could see the girl looking at Duncan with undisguised hatred.

"That jerk," muttered Taryn.

"You know him?" Jean asked.

"We used to go out."

"What happened?" asked Jean, leaning forward.

Taryn shook her head, as if to clear bad memories. "He's just a jerk. Don't let him convince you otherwise, OK."

Jean nodded, wondering what had happened that caused Taryn to hate him so much.

*********************

"Mr. Summers, we have a problem," stated Edward Nasson, sarcastically referred to by his students as 'Mr. Niceguy'.

"I can't take my sunglasses off," said Scott once more. Behind him, he heard the rest of the class mumbling, even a few muffled shouts of 'Just take 'em the hell off Summers!'

"Yes, you've told me," said Mr. Niceguy. "You have a widdle sensitibidee in your eyes, right?" His voice was mockingly babyish.

"Well yeah." Behind Scott on the bleachers, the rest of the class was laughing.

"Swear to God you're the wimpiest kid I've ever met! They're just glasses. You won't die if you take them off!"

"You might," Scott muttered.

"Excuse me."

"Nothing."

Mr. Niceguy looked at his watch. He had wasted five minutes of class time trying to get this new kid to take off his glasses. Lenses and dodgeball really didn't mix. However, the other kids were getting restless and Scott Summers was obviously pretty adamant about the shades.

"You know what, fine! Wear 'em. Just don't come crying to me when they break."

"They won't."

"Yeah, we'll see. Now sit down! I need to get you all divided into groups."

Scott found a seat by a tall blond kid, doing his best not to look anyone in the eye. He thought back to the conversation he'd had in the mall with Jean, and had a good feeling that he hadn't done his popularity any favors by the stunt he'd just pulled.

He felt a tap on his arm. It was the blond kid.

"Hey." His voice was confident. Or maybe arrogant. Hard to tell from just that one word.

"Hey," Scott replied.

"Dude, that was pretty neat. Getting' all smart and stuff with Niceguy."

"Thanks," said Scott, even though he wasn't really paying attention.

"Name's Duncan. Duncan Matthews."

"Scott. Scott Summers."

Duncan apparently found this funny, since he began laughing, nudging one of his buddies. "Man, I love this guy." He turned back to Scott. "Listen man, I've got this party comin' up at my place. You should come?"

"OK," said Scott, the fact he was being invited to his first high school party not lost on him.

"Great man. Lotta chicks will be there, and the 'rents'll be in Southern Cali. Best time to have a party, right?"

Warning bells tinkled in Scott's head, but they were overshadowed by sheer practicality. He was new and didn't know anyone, the fact that he had to wear sunglasses 24/7 not being a real help. Going to a popular kid's party couldn't hurt. And if things got out of hand, he could always leave. "When is it?"

"This weekend. Catch up with me later and I'll show you where it is."

"Sounds . . .great." Scott heard his name called and walked over to take his place on the dodgeball team he'd been assigned, suddenly missing Jean, even though he'd seen her just that morning. He wondered what was happening with her in her classes.

And then a dodgeball flew threw the air, the only thing saving Scott from being hit in the face being his reflexes, and even then just barely.

"Pay attention Summers!" screamed the coach.

_Right._

_****************************_

What were the odds, wondered Logan, that the woman from the bookstore would not only be a mutant, but one that Xavier had to recruit. Whatever they were, they'd been met, and now he found himself regretting (slightly) his behavior toward her earlier. Of course, even if he had been rude, she was more than paying him back by simply ignoring him.

She was beautiful though. Extraordinarily so and as such, he found it difficult to take his eyes off of her. He hadn't been in that situation since Mariko, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

They were in the Professor's car, Ororo and he in the backseat and Xavier driving, thanks to the miracle of technology. The conversation hadn't taken long, and Ororo had immediately agreed to go with Xavier to the Institute. She didn't feel very safe in her own house. So they'd gotten in the car for the ride home and Ororo of course was sitting as far from him as possible. Wouldn't even look at him.

"Must be uncomfortable," said Logan amiably, "havin to turn your head at that angle just to look as far away from me as humanly possible."

Her eyebrow twitched, but no answer.

Logan shrugged, pulled out a cigar, and lit it, sending a ring of smoke out in front of him.

"I would appreciate if you wouldn't do that," said Ororo. Despite her tone, she had a beautiful voice.

"I'm sorry, I must be hearing things. Did you actually speak to me?"

"You're a very funny man," said Ororo sarcastically, pointedly eyeing his cigar.

"Thank you." Just as sarcastically.

"I do have the right however not to have to be exposed to secondhand smoke and all of its harmful effects. So I am asking you nicely to stop smoking."

"Well darlin', I'm touched that you're asking nicely. I really am. But I like to smoke and this is a damn good cigar that I've been savin all week, so I think I'll finish it." He puffed again, a slow exhalation that floated in a series of smoky wreaths before dissolving.

And then it started raining. In the car. And just on him. "What the flamin'-"He looked up to see a miniature storm cloud that had somehow formed above his head, unleashing a torrent of rain. The cigar, soaked now, went out leaving nothing but wet smoke.

"I can ask nicer if you want, Mr. Logan."

"That was a thirty dollar cigar!"

"Your liver and lungs won't miss it, trust me."

Logan gave her a glare that had put the fear of God into hardened soldiers in its prime. Ororo was completely unfazed. With a sigh and perhaps a fair share of expletives to boot, he wiped beads of rainwater out of his eyes as well as he could. "Women!" he grumbled.

And maybe, just maybe, Ororo Munroe gave the hint of a smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Allerdayle glanced around at his surroundings. The place was big. Not huge, but large enough. He had his own room. As for his teammates, there was only one girl, but Magneto had promised more recruits of all types soon.

He sat on his bed now, flicking his Zippo on and off. He had been thrashed, so to speak, by Magneto. Humility wasn't easy for Allerdayle, but even he had to admit that the man outclassed him when it came to raw power. Even living flame was useless against the vast Magnetic energies at Magneto's beck and call.

Had Allerdayle been in the other man's shoes, he wouldn't have hesitated to finish off his opponent. That's what Allerdayle had expected after being so soundly defeated by Magneto. Instead though, Magneto had offered John the opportunity to join _his_ gang, so to speak.

He wondered what Magneto's plan was. The enigmatic leader hadn't divulged much, only that it involved Manhattan and that it would signify the beginning of the end for mankind's reign.

Magneto now had a website: . It received millions of hits a day and he updated it regularly. In it, he spoke of his own experiences with bigotry and called out for mutants around the globe to be prepared for the human overthrow. Some were skeptics and others outright mockers. However, some of the audience was bound to be comprised of mutants, many of whom had to live their life pretending to be something they weren't. Magneto's message appealed to them.

Allerdayle didn't really care either way. He'd had a firsthand demonstration of Magneto's power after being easily beaten by the Master of Magnetism, and he did not think the man was stupid. Whatever he was planning was bound to work and once it did, mutants like John would be able to rise to power. John had never been victimized by regular humans, quite the opposite in fact. He didn't really care about the distinction between human and mutant as much as he did the one between the weak and the strong.

Wanda entered the room just then. He could tell because of the light, almost ethereal tread of her footsteps. He turned around. She was a babe alright, as some of his old friends would say. However, she showed absolutely no interest in him whatsoever, not to mention that her brother had told him in no uncertain terms that he would slit his throat in a millisecond if he so much as looked sideways at his sister. John wasn't scared of the silver-haired punk of course, but on the other hand, it wasn't that good an idea to pick a fight with someone who could kill you a hundred different ways in the time it took to blink.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Magneto has summoned us to the conference room," came the neutral reply.

Allerdayle considered a snide comment, but the witch would only ignore it anyway. Instead he said, "Why's he want us?"

"We are to meet two new recruits," answered Wanda. "Come on."

John rolled his eyes, but did get up. "Yeah, coming."

***************************

In the bustling cafeteria, Jean frantically searched for a lunch table. She could find neither Taryn nor Scott and those were pretty much the only people she knew at the school. Once again, she scanned the rapidly-filling tables for either one of her two friends.

She saw a shock of brown hair for a brief second and then started over in that direction, no mean feat due to sheer mass of kids coming the opposite direction. "Scott," she yelled.

Sure enough, it was him. And he looked relieved to see her too. She would have hugged if she didn't have a cafeteria tray in her hands.

"We have no classes together," she lamented.

"Not in the morning anyway," Scott replied. "Maybe in the afternoon.

"I made a friend." Jean announced.

"Who?"

"That girl from the bus. Taryn." Jean shifted slightly to allow another student to pass. "She's really nice."

"Yeah, I'd figured."

"What about you?"

Scott shrugged. "Sorta. This guy named-"He paused suddenly. "You know they have open lunch, right? So we could go outside if we wanted."

"_Do_ we want to?"

"Yeah, I think so. It's way too noisy in here."

Jean shrugged. "Lead the way then."

Scott smiled and took her hand leading her through the mass of students. It was a pretty innocent gesture grounded in simple practicality, since it prevented them from losing each other. That didn't change the fact that felt her breath catch in her throat and her heart beat rise when Scott did it. Her cheeks warmed, even as she mentally scolded herself for thoughts she didn't understand and wasn't sure she wanted to.

Suddenly, they were there. Outside the school. Scott stopped when they came to a tree that was just large enough to provide adequate shade. "This spot okay?" asked Scott.

"Its-its fine," Jean told him approvingly. "Beats the cafeteria any day."

"Yeah." Scott held up his lunch box. "Can't believe you'd eat the cafeteria food."

Jean shrugged. "I don't know why it gets such a bad rep. This stuff is delicious. Now stop trying to change the subject. Who's your new friend?"

"Oh. Right. He's this kid named Duncan Matthews."

The name took Jean a few moments to place. When her memory made the correction, her eyes flew open. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"I'm not kidding. Why would I kid?"

"Duncan Matthews? Big blond jerk Duncan Matthews?'

Scott's brow was furrowed. "Um, two of those anyway. Have you met Duncan?"

"Yeah, and I didn't like him. How did you guys become friends?"

Scott shrugged. "I really don't' know myself. Why don't you like him? He seemed cool enough to me."

"You're serious." Jean's voice was laced with disbelief

"I'm serious."

Jean took a deep breath. "Taryn and he used to go out."

"So?"

"So, she told me he's a jerk."

"And what led her to that conclusion?"

"I don't know."

"Uh huh. And did she say why she thought he was a jerk?"

"Well, no."

"Uh huh."

"Stop that!"

"What?" Scott protested.

"Dismissing what I'm saying, that's what." Jean took a large, somewhat overly ferocious bite of her cheeseburger.

"I'm not dismissing what you or Taryn is saying," placated Scott. "I just don't see anything wrong with the guy. And to be honest, if Taryn and Duncan broke up, don't you think she might be a tiny bit biased? I mean, if you've just had a bad breakup, you probably tend to blame whatever problems there were on the other person, even if that's not necessarily where it belongs."

"Yeah, and you'd know all this from your huge resume of relationship experience. You've never even had anything close girlfriend to break up with," Jean sarcastically shot back.

Scott froze. "That was uncalled for," he said quietly.

"No, it was reality."

Scott looked hurt now. It wasn't easy to read emotion on his face because of his glasses, but you could tell by the way his eyebrows creased and the corner of his mouth twitched downward. "I think I'll head back inside," he said abruptly. "I think I'd prefer the noise to listening to you right now."

Jean shrugged angrily. "Fine."

Watching him leave, Jean couldn't help but wonder what had just happened. And why she suddenly felt so miserable. . .


	12. Chapter 12

"This the place kid?" Logan asked as he stopped his Harley in front of the large semi-mansion Scott had pointed to.

"Yep." Scott whistled. "I thought that guy was loaded, but man . . ."

"Right. And you wouldn't know anything about living in big houses."

"Not the same. The Institute's just that. A school."

"Whatever. Just call the mansion when you wanna get picked up. No cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, sex, you know the deal."

Scott arched a brow as he climbed off of the motorcycle. "Says the guy who goes through Cuban cigars like kleenex."

"You ever get a pair of lungs that can heal themselves and you can smoke whatever the hell you want kid. Now go on, I gotta back for supper."

"See ya Logan."

"You too, kid."

With a loud rumble, Logan sped off towards the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children.

********************

In a poorly-kept mini-garden on the top floor of the Institute, Ororo Munroe watched a thunderstorm. It was small. Very small. In fact, the localized clouds could have fit inside of a fair-sized aquarium. Creating a small thunderstorm was no problem for Ororo and with a few more like it plus some good light from the sunroof, the neglected garden would be up and growing in no time.

The door creaked open, casting a wide bar of light onto the room from the hallway. Ororo calmed down her mini-storm, then turned around to face her unexpected visitor.

"Hey," said Jean, leaning against the doorjamb. She was wearing a pink T-shirt, purple sweatpants, and bunny slippers. Instead of combing her hair straight like she usually did, she had opted to pile it atop her head, two chopsticks intersecting through her hair. All in all, she didn't look at all dressed for going out, which was what Ororo had expected.

"Hey," replied Ororo, dusting her own pants off and rising to her feet. She cocked her head to the side. "I thought you were going to that party Scott was talking about."

Jean looked down at the floor, a small sigh escaping her lips. "Nope. Just Scott."

The older woman's brow furrowed. "You know, you two have seemed a little chilly all week. What's going on, get into a fight or something?"

"No. Its-its really nothing. Just . . .yeah. Nothing."

The way the girl said it made Ororo suspect that just the opposite was true. She smiled, remembering when she had gone through that stage in her own life. "You can tell me," she assured Jean. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"It wasn't. I just said one little thing and he's all . . .avoiding me and hanging out with that jerk Duncan."

"Duncan?"

"Yeah. Duncan Matthews. Just some idiot at school. He and Scott are best buds now."

"I see. What was it you said?"

Jean snorted. "That's just it. I can't even remember. Something about him never having a girlfriend I guess. . ."

"Really. I thought you two were-"

"Just friends," interjected Jean. "Well, we were anyway. Now, I don't know."

"Ah. Well I'm no Oprah, but maybe you should apologize."

Another snort. "As if I could ever find a millisecond of time where Scott's ever A) not hanging around with Duncan or B) not avoiding me like the Black Plague."

Ororo smiled knowingly. "Well, in that case I'm not sure I can be much help. I don't think I've been in your particular situation before."

"Dealing with stubborn, pigheaded guys?"

Ororo thought about that. "On second thought, maybe I have."

"Who?"

"Short guy. Smokes a lot of imported cigars. Has an ugly, gas-guzzling monstrosity of a motorcycle that he likes to obsessively clean. Maybe you've seen him around the institute." Despite her rather unpleasant description, Storm found herself smiling.

"Logan?" Jean giggled, pushing off the door jamb and coming to sit on the only couch in the room. Ororo joined her. "He's a little rough, but he's not that bad."

Ororo sniffed incredulously. "Please. He's wild, brute of a man who pollutes the mansion with that noxious smoke from those awful cigars. I almost feel like I need an oxygen mask just to breathe when he enters the room."

"That's probably just you though. Since you're naturally attuned to the weather and air currents and stuff, his smoking would have more of an effect on you than anyone else."

"Is that so."

"Yep. And you know what else?"

"What?"

"I think you like him."

Ororo was about to respond, but she caught herself just in time. "Hey, we were talking about your guy troubles, young lady."

"Pfft. Mine are boring And depressing, at the moment," Jean sighed. "But you and Logan? I'm a romantic or anything, but you guys would make a great pair."

"We have absolutely nothing in common," countered Ororo. "That runt. . . I don't find him the least bit attractive."

"Now you're lying."

Ororo glared at her. "And how would you know?"

Jean tapped her temple, smirking at the older woman. "I can tell," she said. "And Logan's really not that short. I mean, without those ridiculously high shoes you always wear you guys would probably be about even."

"He annoys me," Ororo sniffed, trying to hide the color rising to her cheeks. "We have absolutely nothing in common and that's all I prefer to say on the subject."

Jean backed off, hands raised in surrender. "OK. Fine with me."

"Good." Ororo regarded her curiously. "I'm not kicking you out or anything, but why did you come up here?"

"Honestly? It sounded like there was a thunderstorm somewhere on the top floor. Made it hard to do my homework, so I decided to check and see what the heck was going on."

"I apologize. I have a great deal of interest in botany, and I noticed this poor neglected garden over here. Thought it could use a rain and I could use a little practice with my powers." Ororo sighed. "Unfortunately, it looks as though I may soon have to find more . . . combative uses for my abilities, what with this Magneto character running around."

Jean snapped her fingers. "That's right. You met him, didn't you?" She leaned forward. "What's he like? Is he as bad as the Professor makes him out to be?"

Ororo looked at her, all joking gone from her eyes. "Yes," she said. "he is."

*****************************

Thunderclap perhaps had one of the most straightforward names of any of Magneto's Acolytes. He clapped, and it made a really loud noise, like thunder. _Really_ loud. Loud enough to knock people literally off their feet. With more like him arriving every day to Magneto's fold, the Master of Magnetism grew more and more confidant in his plan.

There were now thirty Acolytes at the Brotherhood's base and hundreds more mutants willing to make a sojourn all the way to Canada if need be to join the man they viewed as their savior. Amazing how many people one could reach with the internet these days.

Canada, however, was not the destiny of _homo superior_. Perhaps that was where American homo sapiens would be exiled once Magneto took control. Regardless, it wasn't fit for mutants. New York, though? Manhattan? That would be the new capital of the United States, and that was where Magneto begin his assault. The fact that the president himself would be visiting only made his position all the more sweeter. One couldn't hope for a better hostage, after all.

Xavier still worried him though. Weak and spineless as his old friend was, Xavier was only a non-threat as long as he followed his own code of morality. If he should be provoked enough to use his true powers, even Magneto would be defenseless.

The Master of Magnetism turned his attention back to Thunderclap, one of his newest recruits. The boy was tall and skinny with inky black hair and a long, thin nose. At present, he was practicing his powers, throwing clay urns into the air and shattering them with the sonic blasts he was capable of emitting by clapping.

Magneto did some clapping of his own, coming to stand beside the boy. "Well done," he congratulated. "I see you hit all of them this time."

The boy nodded and smiled. It was all he could do. Rather ironic that a boy who could fire intense blasts of sonic energy was himself incapable of speech.

"Keep working on it," said Magneto, drawing his cloak around himself. "I know you won't let me down."

*************************

Senator Robert Kelly was fearful and excited at the same time. It was an odd combination of emotions to experience and the overall stress just made him nervous. He was fearful because what he was doing in this highly classified government plant and what he had been doing to gain access were strictly illegal. If anyone should find out what exactly he was doing, he'd wind up in jail in an instant.

He was excited because he was looking at what was (in his mind) one of the greatest technological achievements of the 21st century. Billions of dollars and research and over a dozen years had gone into project Sentinel, and the fact that Kelly and his cronies had been able to keep it disguised as nothing more than some government spy plane developments in the federal budget was nothing sort of amazing.

"This, Senator, is the end result of all of our hard work," stated Bolivar Trask, the man beside him. "I give you, Sentinel Prime."

The robot stood at least two stories high and was vaguely humanoid in appearance. A massive chest tapered off o a slim abdominal section, supported by a pair of sturdy legs. The forearms were thick as tree trunks and the fists looked like they could squash a man whole. To most people, it would have been terrifying. To Kelly, it was awe-inspiring.

"Amazing," he whispered. "And it has all of the new specifications?"

"Yes, specifically designed to combat mutants. I have a mutagenic dampening device in the works, but for now, Prime has only standard complement, although I assure you that should be more than enough. Wrist-contained machine gun turrets, Plasma beam generators In the eyes as well as the hands. The chest cavity houses even more weapons, and the robot is capable of aerial flight thanks to he rocket propulsion system I installed. God himself couldn't fight this thing."

"I believe you," said Kelly.

"Yes, and once all the bugs are worked out, I can have a hundred more, all at your disposal."

"Excellent."

**************************************

Scott wondered, not for the first time that night, why he'd bothered coming to Duncan's party at all. He knew the answer, of course. It just didn't make him feel any better, as he squished and pried his way through the mass of people. Here, in the confines of Duncan's house, personal space was a non-issue simply because there was none. God knew what would happen if one of the wildly-dancing teens present should accidentally knock his glasses off.

Sensory overload was the other big problem, as far as Scott was concerned. The deafening bass beat coming out of what looked like speakers on steroids vibrated through the ground and into his body. He could have screamed at the top of his lungs right into the ear of the blond girl next to him and she still wouldn't have heard him. He sure couldn't hear her, and she was yelling as loud as she could.

"What?" He yelled. "I couldn't hear you!" Truthfully, he couldn't see her that well either. The strobe lights placed around the room cast every motion into a series of flickering images, like if you walked into a crowded room and just kept blinking nonstop.

"I said," the girl yelled back. "Do you wanna dance?"

Scott shook his head. "No thanks." Not that he wasn't tempted, but he had a strong feeling that the girl was drunk or high or both.

"C'mon," she whined, moving closer if possible and rolling her shoulders back and inviting him to take a good look at what she had to offer. Scott looked at her eyes instead. They were bloodshot and glazed. She was definitely out of it.

"Sorry, I gotta go get a drink. Maybe you should lie down. You don't look so-" He trailed off when she slumped into his arms. Not unconscious, just too tipsy to stand.

It took him five minutes to maneuver her to a couch that didn't have a couple making out or ingesting some type of questionable substance. When he did, she giggled and promptly fell asleep. Scott shook his head, thinking of the fun things he could be doing at the Institute right now.

With a great deal of carefulness, he made his way across the floor towards the pool room where the cooler was. Miraculously, he made it to the door and in another few seconds, he was inside.

Duncan and two of his buddies were playing pool in the breezy, well lit room. It was like walking into a whole different dimension. He could actually hear himself think.

Duncan looked a smirk coming to is face. "Hey Summers, glad you could make it."

"Mm hm." Scott couldn't bring himself in good conscience to fully agree.

"So, whatcha think?"

"Um . . .its wild."

Duncan and his friends laughed at this. "You think this is wild man? You should come to one of the summer bashes. No neighbors. Unlimited booze. Its great."

"Yeah." Scott looked down in the cooler and picked up a Mountain Dew.

"Y'know Summers, I'm curious. Where's that red-headed babe you live with?"

Scott bristled at this. "She decided to stay home," he said coolly.

"Oh. Well that's great man. You're one lucky dog, y'know. Got your own little action waiting just for you back at the crib every day."

"Its not like that," Scott growled.

Duncan winked. "If I was you, it would be."

Scott slapped the billiard table. Hard. It was surprisingly loud, too. "Man . . .don't," he warned. "Don't go there."

One of Duncan's buddies made a goofy face. "Gee, wonder what he's talking about. Don't go where?"

Duncan shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want me to say something like this:" He smirked and graphically described for Scott exactly what he would like to do to Jean and how.

Or began to, anyway. Now there are many things that can stop a given human being from continuing to speak. Few are effective as a punch and that proved equally true in Duncan's case. Scott's punch spun him a full hundred-eighty degrees. Duncan slammed unceremoniously into the pool table, the edge of the table hitting a few inches below the belt and producing a startled gasp.

Scott hadn't had time to even consider what he'd just done before the first of Duncan's buddies, who had about four inches and fifty pounds on him, swung. It was more out of reflex than anything that Scott employed a simple tae kwon do counter, batting the fist to the side so that it would miss his head, if only by a few inches. Simultaneously, Scott stepped forward, hooking his foot behind the bigger guy's and using his shoulder to shove him backward. With his center of gravity suddenly deprived of support, the boy found himself falling backward for an unpleasant meeting with the floor.

Duncan, meanwhile, was slowly gaining his composure. His eyes blazed with fury as he wiped the blood off of his mouth with his sleeve. "What thehell is wrong with you, Summers?" he shouted.

Truthfully, Scott had no idea. The Professor would blush with shame if he could see what he had just done. True, the things Duncan was saying about Jean were disgusting, but that didn't mean that Scott could initiate a fistfight. "I-I'm leaving" stammered Scott.

"Good," spat Duncan. "And don't come back, you little prick!"

Scott hadn't even felt like calling for a ride so he'd taken a bus instead. As a result, by the time he arrived back at the Institute he had wasted forty minutes and was now a buck and seventy-five cents poorer. He didn't care though, as long as he could get away from Duncan and that party. Right then, he really hated parties.

He rubbed his bruised knuckles as walked in (the Prof had given him a key to the mansion a few weeks earlier). Punching Duncan like that had been stupid, even in combative terms. Hard against soft or soft against hard," Logan had always told him when they practiced in the Danger Room. He was referring to the fact that unlike the movies, punching someone blindly in the face is more likely to break your own knuckles than any of the other person's bones which are harder than the bones in the human finger. If it had been a conscious fight, Scott would have used his training and actually delivered an effective strike. That one however had happened with no forethought, just pure, blind rage. Or protectiveness. . .

It was dark inside, which was what he should have expected, arriving so late. Right now, he just wanted to collapse in his bed and go to sleep to one of his Lone Ranger tapes. Maybe draw a picture. In the morning, he could finally apologize to Jean and then just prepare for the worst when school rolled around the next week.

His bed was so soft and warm that he didn't even bother getting under the immaculately made covers. Reaching to his cassette player, he slipped inside a fresh tape and was about to press the play button when he sensed someone behind him the doorway.

"Jean," he said, recognizing the shadow that she cast across the before he even saw her.

"Scott," she said, imitating his voice. One eyebrow arched. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, uh . . .sure," Scott replied, sitting up. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to see how it went at Duncan's. You got home kinda late, so I assume it was a heckuva party."

"You could say that."

Jean's smile was more caring than anything. "I could, but that wouldn't explain the frustration rolling off your psyche. What happened?"

"I just did something stupid, that's all."

Anger passed briefly through Jean's eyes, slow enough that Scott could immediately glean what she was thinking

"Not that," he assured her.

"Ah." Jean couldn't completely hide the relief from her face. "What then?"

"I socked Duncan, Right in the face."

Jean was nearly rendered speechless. "Duncan Matthews?"

"Yep."

Jean seemed to think about how to respond for a few heartbeats. Walked over to the bed, sat down beside Scott, and gave him a hug. Well, as much of one as she could muster, sitting next to instead of across from Scott. He didn't mind though, Not in the least.

"I'm sorry for what I said," Jean told hold him, resting her chin on his collarbone. "About you and not having any . . .yeah."

Scott laughed. Not out loud, but she could feel the rumble reverberate through him. "No need, Jean. It was absolutely true. In fact maybe I'm the one who should apologize for my reaction."

"You wanna get in one of those arguments where we each try to argue that it was our own fault? You know, like in the movies?"

Scott smiled at her joke. "Not particularly."

"OK, then I have another question. Why'd you punch Duncan?" She could feel Scott's muscles tense the instant she asked the question.

Scott gave out a small sigh. "It was something he said."

"What? What'd he say?"

"Something that I'm really not comfortable repeating. It was about you."

"Tell me."

"Can't."

"Don't make me read your mind, Scott Summers," threatened Jean, head nestled in his shoulder.

"You wouldn't."

She would. And she did. And about five seconds later, she wished she hadn't. "Ugh! That . . ."

"Jackass?" finished Scott mildly.

"Yeah."

"You read my mind, didn't you?"

Jean nodded, still too disgusted to speak.

"I warned you."

"I should have listened. I'm glad you punched him."

"I'm not. I just lost the only friend I kind of had at school."

"The only friend?" asked Jean?"

Scott had been looking at the wall before. He turned around now, looking straight at Jean. She was looking up at him with something in her eyes he couldn't even begin to identify. Even in shades of red, she looked beautiful. "No," he said, heart hammering. "Not the only friend."

Jean didn't respond. Not verbally anyway. She tilted her head to the side and leaned forward until their lips were touching. Shock emanated from Scott, but more pleasant surprise than anything. Taking the mental go-ahead, Jean deepened the kiss. She could hardly think straight.

Scott needed no further prompting, his left arm circling around her waist, pulling her closer. Even as a small voice inside his head howled at him to stop, he didn't. Couldn't. Sure, he'd heard about how great and wonderful kissing was, but whatever he'd heard didn't do the experience justice. He doubted he could form a coherent thought even if he tried.

Jean's head tilted even more, her arms snaking around the back of his neck. Which would have been perfect if it weren't for the fact that she accidentally nudged his ruby-quartz lenses.

"Ah!" Scott yelled, breaking the kiss and stepping back, hands over his glasses to keep them firmly in place. He was breathing hard, mouth open. Like he'd just run a dozen miles.

"What?" Jean asked concerned. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Scott said, although the tremor in his voice said the exact opposite. "I-I think its time for me to go to bed now."

Jean didn't understand what had happened. It was like being on a roller coaster and suddenly taking a plummet. She gulped down what felt suspiciously like a sob and rose to her feet, too stunned to do anything else. Somehow, she managed to find her voice and say, "I-I'll see you tomorrow then Scott. Good night."

Scott looked drained, elbows on his knees and head hung low. He didn't even look up when he said: "Good night, Jean."

Through sheer willpower alone, Jean backed out through the doorway, lower lip firmly clenched between her teeth to keep it from trembling. _Stupid_, she berated herself as she trodded back to her own room, bunny slippers making a slight rustling sound against the carpet. Stupid to expect that a mere kiss would be enough to magically cure all of his insecurities.

It wasn't her first kiss, but it was certainly her best. It was the first time she'd ever initiated one and for a brief moment, Scott had responded with equal abandon such that even a non-telepath could have sensed it. Perhaps that was what scared him so much. Not being in control.

Her own bed was a welcome shelter and she gladly curled up in her covers. She fell asleep buried under her quilt, pillow clutched tightly, and all thoughts revolving around a certain dark-haired classmate with a solid, dependable smile and crimson ruby-quartz shades.


	13. Chapter 13

"Kid, if the superhero thing doesn't work out you should really consider bein' a cook or something."

"Stop it Logan, You'll inflate the boy's ego," Ororo chided. Nevertheless, her own plate of Summers' Specialty Pancakes was wiped clean, she'd eaten them so fast.

"Boy can cook that well, he deserves a little ego," Logan snapped back, pulling out a cigar and flipping out a lighter out of his other pocket.

Ororo rolled her eyes. "That is just like you," she accused, you know I hate those filthy carcinogen-packed devices, that's the only reason you pulled one out."

"_Cigars_, darlin'. Normal people call them cigars."

"Well its about to be called sopping wet if you don't put it down this instant, or would you prefer to try smoking that abomination while soaking within your own personal monsoon?"

Logan glared at her. "Friggin' enviromaniac," he muttered.

"Brute."

"Hippie."

"Neanderthal."

"Stuck-up pain in the-"

"Look at you two," Jean interrupted, descending down the stairs. "Its like you're an old married couple. You sound just like my grandparents."

"What?" Ororo protested. "I wouldn't marry him if he were the last man on earth."

"I'd rather get hitched with my friggin' motorcycle," Logan added.

"Please. You're already far more intimate with that vehicle than you'll ever be with an actual woman."

Logan sniffed the air. "I'zat jealousy I smell, Ro? You jealous of a motorcycle?"

Scott shook his head, put up his apron, and covertly left the kitchen, not sure if he was glad or not that Jean had decided to follow suit. He went into the living room and plopped down on the couch, Jean taking a seat beside him only a few seconds later.

"Listen to them," Jean said, dimples forming from the amused smile she wore. "They're still going at it."

"I can't decide whether they love or hate each other."

"There's a thin line between the two," said Jean. "That's what my mom always told me. Both have their root in passion, just channeled in a different matter."

"Interesting theory. Personally, I think if they don't get their differences resolved soon, Logan's going to end up as target practice for every lightning bolt in the county."

Jean smiled, but didn't say anything. With the topic of Logan and Ororo already discussed, what was there to talk about? Last night? She was already trying to forget it (without much success). It was the white elephant in the room and both of them knew it, but the question was, who would bring it up?

After twelve seconds, it was Scott who broke the silence. "I think I owe you an apology, Jean."

Jean was taken aback, of all the things she'd expected him to say, this was not one of them. "For what?'

"Reacting the way I did when you accidentally nudged my glasses. I freaked, and that's not something I'd like to think I usually do."

"Scott, you don't have to apologize. Seriously. I completely understand why you would be very careful, what with your eyebeams. Its guess lately I've kind of forgotten about that aspect of you, simply because I've gotten to know you personally. What's _behind_ the ruby quartz."

"Aren't you ever scared to be around me though? Scared that with one small accident, I might do the same thing to you I did to that penny when we first met?"

Jean smiled at the way he'd brought that up. They really hadn't known each other for very long, but in that period of time her perception of him had completely changed. When she'd first seen him, she was attracted, sure. But that was mostly physical since he was her age, in great shape, and by no means hard to look at. At first, he had seemed rather aloof, but once she'd gotten past that, she'd seen other sides of him as well. He liked to draw. He missed his parents. He was a great strategic thinker, and he never complained about the stuff he'd been through, stuff Jean was sure she couldn't even imagine. Physically, he was a teenager, but in terms of actual maturity, he was much farther along than that. Also he-

"Jean, you're blankin' out," Scott said, his voice bringing her out of thought.

"Sorry." Jean thought back to the question he'd asked and remembered her answer just as quickly. "Scott," she said, "I've never been scared to be around you. I know how careful you are about your powers and I trust you. Honestly." Her brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm scared to be around you," he said. Even without her telepathy, Jean would have known he was telling the truth. And it shocked her.

"Why?" It came out as barely more than a whisper.

"Because I've seen what my eyebeams can do to a person, Jean. I've heard their screams. I have nightmares about what my eyebeams could do to you or the Professor or Logan or Ororo or anyone else I get to close to."

"You don't have to worry about getting too close to me," Jean said soothingly. Despite what had happened last night, she wanted to kiss him all over again. She could feel his emotions, rolling off him life psychic waves onto a beach. She could sense his fear and his insecurity, both of which he tried to negate by trying his absolute best at everything he did, from school to combat training to drawing. She broadened her psychic awareness, now picking up other things. His longing for his parents and his brother. She hadn't even known he had a brother.

_Jean, what are you doing? _it took her a moment to realize that Scott was telepathically communicating with her. He didn't have those kinds of abilities, so she was amazed that whatever psychic bond was being forged between them was powerful enough to allow for him to contact her.

_I don't know_, she responded. _Its just kid of . . .happening._

_You used to have a crush on Dennis Quaid?_

_How did you know that?_

_Scott gave a psychic shrug. I have no idea. Its weird, but is like I can sense everything about you and vice versa._

Jean realized then that the connection that had suddenly swept her and Scott up was happening too fast and becoming far too intimate. It was like being completely naked, to have someone, even someone she liked as much as Scott, able to see all of her memories, her feeling, and her thoughts. She broke the link.

Scott looked thunderstruck. She probably did too. Among the emotions and feelings she'd picked up from Scott. She'd seen his feelings for her. They were strong. Maybe even as strong as hers for him, and definitely more than platonic. He wanted her, wanted to be with her. Yet all of that was overshadowed by his fear of hurting her.

And something else. There was another reason Scott held back and ignored his feelings, one she hadn't had time to sense before she'd severed the bond. She wondered what it was, and if he'd ever be able to overcome it.

At a loss for what to say, Jean simply blurted out, "Apology accepted."

Scott rose shakily to his feet. "Thank you."

******************************

That evening after regular training sessions, instead of going back to his room and drawing or listening to old cassette tapes, Scott walked over to sit on the edge of the Danger Room's makeshift bleachers by the Professor.

"You did well, Scott," complemented Xavier. "You were able to take down four training bots in under a minute blindfolded. Its nice to see that regaining your sight hasn't made you lose your other edges in a combat situation."

"Thank you."

"But you didn't sit here to talk about that did you? Tell me, what's on your mind?

A small smile touched Scott's face. "Isn't that what you should be telling me?"

"Oh, I never pry into others thoughts, Scott. Not to that degree anyway."

Scott nodded. "Does it ever work both ways?" he asked.

"Does what work both ways?"

"The ability to read someone's thoughts. Is it possible that if you reached out to another person's mind, they might be able to reach back into yours?"

Xavier frowned thoughtfully. "I don't believe so," he said. "Not unless the other person was also a telepath or there was a very strong psychic bond between us. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno, something weird happened earlier today when I was with Jean. We were talking, and all of a sudden it was like she could see everything in my head, like my memories and stuff, and I could see everything in hers."

Xavier's brow furrowed "This is very disturbing," he said. "I wouldn't have thought Jean the type to try to invade the mental privacy of another person unless strictly necessary."

"But that's just it. I don't think she did it on purpose and it worked both ways."

Xavier seemed surprised at this. "Tell me Scott, how do you feel about Jean? Honestly."

"What does that have to do with-"

"Everything, if my suspicions are correct."

Scott still had no idea what the relevance was, but Xavier's question was by no means difficult to answer. "I like her," he said simply. Then, as an afterthought, "A lot."

"Have you told her this?"

"No, not directly."

"Why?"

Scott smiled. "One," he said, ticking off a finger, "I'm really shy. Its just who I am. Two: I don't want to hurt her, which usually ends up happening to people who get too close to me."

"And three?" Xavier pressed.

The boy faltered for a moment. "Well, I guess its just that she's kind of out of my league. I'm a orphaned kid with uncontrollable deadly energy beams who can't even remember what the color _blue_ looks like, and she's this beautiful, intelligent, upper-class girl from-" Scott trailed off, clearly embarrassed at having revealed so much. "I still don't see what this has to do with your question," he said.

Xavier gave an understanding smile. "I believe that you two have developed a psychic bond," he stated. "How, I have no idea. But clearly Jean's powers have manifested to the point where such a link can be created unconsciously via her emotions." He smiled. "You should be happy. I would say this is proof that she clearly reciprocates your own feelings. You should have no trouble now talking to her about this and perhaps even fashioning some sort of relationship from your mutual sentiments."

Surprisingly, Scott was shaking his head. "No . . .I don't think so. Thanks Professor. I should get going."

Puzzled, Charles Xavier simply nodded. "Before you go though, there's something I wan to show to you, Jean, Logan, and Ororo."

"Those two haven't been able to speak to each other all day," Scott remarked.

Xavier chuckled. "Yes, I know. That will be unnecessary for what I have to show you all though."

"Why? What is it?"

Xavier's smile broadened. "Your new uniforms, of course."


	14. Chapter 14

"Costumes?" Jean asked for the fifth time, confused. "I'm still not getting this"

Xavier smiled graciously. "Forgive my poor word choice. I'm not asking you to play dress up; these are the actual uniforms you will be wearing in the field. Mind you, they are preliminary versions, and of course subject to change if you should feel the need."

Logan shrugged. "What the hey, it'll be like Halloween." He and Ororo had just come to join Xavier and the children.

"Your visage is already frightening enough as it is," assured Ororo. "No costume needed."

"That's enough," interjected Xavier. "Both of you. You will have more than enough time to engage in childish behavior. But for now, I want each of you to go to your rooms. That's you too Scott and Jean. In your rooms, each of you will find your uniform. Feel free to put them on, and then we will all meet back here."

Ororo scowled at Logan and he more than returned the sentiment, but both of them abided by Xavier's wishes and went up the stairs and to their own rooms, Scott following suit. This left only Jean in the room.

"Do we have to wear these uniforms?" Jean asked once everyone was out of earshot.

"Not all the time, no. But you will probably find yourself in situations where they are more practical. You haven't been completing-and excelling in- all those Danger Room exercises for nothing, after all."

"So these are fighting uniforms."

"If necessary, yes." Xavier leaned back and smiled. "Now why don't you go take a look at yours and then make up your mind about it."

Jean nodded. "Fair enough," she admitted, trotting up the stairs.

Logan was the first to come down wearing the new uniform. His was dark blue with orange boots and shoulder pads, with a fierce looking headpiece that could be pulled over the face, masking most of it. For now though the mask part of his costume was pulled back on his shoulders.

Ororo came down close behind him, floating angelically to the ground from the top of the stairs. Hers included a dark blue full-body suit, a large, majestic cape of the same color, and silver ankle-height boots that matched her stunning hair.

Xavier half expected Logan to make a smart remark, but instead the resident Canadian only stared. "You . . .look nice," he finally managed, looking extremely uncomfortable admitting such an obvious fact.

Surprise registered on Ororo's face, followed by a slow smile of pleasure. "Thank you," she said graciously in what was perhaps their first civilized exchange. She had to admit that Logan didn't look half bad either in his own uniform, which complemented his hard, compact muscles. "Yours isn't to bad either," she allowed.

But by then, Scott and Jean were already descending the stairs. Scott's uniform consisted of a dark blue bodysuit with yellow boots and gloves. He had several belts around his waist, carrying important field utilities no doubt. The most shocking change however was that his ruby-quartz shades had been replaced with a stylish yellow visor that wrapped around his head and attached to earpieces that covered his ears. The opening in the visor was one long slit that pulsed red with the energy that it contained.

"And at last, the party is complete," said Xavier as Jean walked down the stairs. Hers was the only uniform that deviated from the dark blue of all the others. Instead, she had a black halter-top and Capri-style pants. In addition she had bright green shoulder pads, fingerless gloves, and oversized ankle boots.

"Did I get the right one?" was the first thing out of Jean's mouth. "Maybe it's just me, but mine doesn't look like everyone else's."

"That's because, unfortunately, I was forced to put it together at the last minute. I custom-ordered a dark blue uniform for you too, but if I remember correctly you hate the color."

"Jean looked around. "True," she said. "I guess my uniform isn't that bad. I mean, its still a fashion disaster, but I don't hate it."

"That's good, I suppose," Xavier said. "What of the rest of you? Feedback?"

"No problem here," said Logan. "Beats that old BlackOps thing they had me wearin'. Yellow, if you can believe it, with blue underwear over the costume and . . .just trust me. It was pretty bad."

"I have no complaints about mine either," said Scott. "This visor is sweet though. I wouldn't mind taking it to the Danger Room for a spin."

"Go ahead," Xavier entreated. Get as comfortable as you can with your field uniform."

One question," said Ororo. "While these are certainly stylish, in a sense, what makes them at all suitable for real life combat?"

Xavier smiled, clearly warming up at the prospect of a lecture. "I'm glad you asked Ororo. Perhaps the first thing to say is that each one of the uniforms is custom-made to its owner. Yours, for instance, has an aerodynamic cape, made of a composite of the material the military uses in its parachutes and hang gliders. Its probably the most durable material of its kind you can find anywhere and most importantly, it should significantly improve you ability to fly using wind currents.

"Logan's uniform too, is designed specifically for his abilities. I left much of the arms free so that he would nothing to hinder movement there, and in his gloves are specialized grooves that align exactly with his claw projections."

On cue, Logan popped all of the claws on his left hand, producing an unmistakable _sinkt _sound. "Not bad, Charlie," he said. "I like."

"Yes, hopefully, you will never have to use those claws of yours, but one must always be prepared after all." Xavier opened his mouth to say more, but never got the chance thanks to his wristwatch going off. He glanced down, an apologetic expression on his face. "I'm sorry, it seems there are urgent matters to attend to," he said. "Logan, now that you all have your costumes, would you mind taking everyone through a few Danger Room scenarios?"

Logan smiled. "My pleasure."

**************

_The Danger Room_

"Alright now ladies and gentlemen," Logan began, addressing the others as soon as all of them were in the Danger Room. "We got our pretty costumes and everything, but unless we're out Trick O' Treatin' it's the training that pays off in the end. With that said, I'm going to put you through one of the most challenging scenarios the Danger Room has to offer."

Jean felt a wave of apprehension rising in her stomach. She was no stranger to the Danger Room by now, but that didn't mean it was easy. "Which one is that?" she found herself asking aloud.

"Which one is what?" Logan asked in response.

"Which scenario is the most challenging?"

Logan chuckled. "Facing each other, of course. Computers are amazin in their ability to simulate the real world, but nothing can replace the spontaneity of human though and reaction. We're gonna divide up into teams and play a little game of Capture the Flag.'

Scott looked around at the others. "What are teams then?" he asked Logan.

"How about boys versus girls," suggested Ororo, coming to stand in front of Logan. "Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Logan shrugged. "Suit yerself. Just one more thing though. Thanks to some new toys the Prof got for the Danger Room, we're going to have this little shindig in a ghost town. Like in the movies. Solid-light holographic projections plus a lot of painstaking detail are going to allow us to use our abilities in a completely different environment."

"Why a ghost town though?" Scott asked.

Logan's mouth curled up in an explanatory smile. "What can I say, kid. I like Westerns."

Five minutes later, in a virtual reality ghost town imaginatively named Dogwood, Scott, Logan, Jean, and Ororo stood in the middle of town, the high simulated sun casting virtually no shadow. True to the rules, the girls were on one side and the boys on the other, separated by a demarcation line in the sand.

Jean remembered the game Capture the Flag. She hadn't played since fifth grade P.E., but she still knew the basics. Each side had a flag or some such object hidden on its territory, and the object of the game was to capture the other team's flag while simultaneously protecting your own. She knew where hers and Ororo's flag was located thanks to an information window invisible only to them.

Logan expanded on those basic rules however. After all, the regular 'tag and you're out' system was hardly useful if the object of the game was to experiment with their powers and uniforms. So instead, the virtual reality program that controlled the Danger Room took a measurement of how much 'damage' was inflicted on each person and used that to determine when someone was truly 'out.'

After explaining all of that, Logan took a deep breath and stepped back. "If you don't have a clue what I just said, then don't worry. You'll experience it soon enough."

"How do we know you didn't alter the program in some way as to make sure that your team wins?" asked Ororo, the effects of their earlier camaraderie having evidently dissipated.

"Trust me darlin', even if I did know how to do somethin' like that, it'd be a waste of time. More fun to just beat you the good ol' fashioned way. That said, let the games begin."

Ororo's first instinct was to take to the air, an instinct which she followed only to run into a rude awakening. The instant she cleared head level, a crimson beam lanced over from the other side and struck her in the shoulder, sending her spinning violently around until she crashed back to the ground.

"Ororo," cried Jean, rushing to her fallen teammate. Before she even reached the woman however, she got up. And there wasn't a scratch or burn on her. Ororo's focus was not on Jean, however, it was on Scott. "Did you just blast me?" she asked.

"Yep. Usually that would be lethal, but thanks to the program the only damage you sustained was virtual."

"Right," said Logan. "Although if you would look above the head of you're teammate, you'll notice a row of bars. They represent your health, and by taking a blow like that, yours, Ororo, has been cut in half. As goes without saying, once you lose all of your health, you are out."

I see, said Ororo, a grin forming on her face. "Let us begin, then."

At that instant, everyone sprung into motion, Ororo, took to the air again, but this time managed to dodge Scott's energy burst and even return with a retaliatory burst of lighting. The act of evading the scarlet beam had been to quick to allow for enough calibration to strike accurately, but the near-hit was enough to make Scott jump back and pause his onslaught.

In the meantime Logan had crossed the boundary line and darted into one of the buildings with Jean in hot pursuit. Senses instantly on alert, she spotted two nearby chairs in the virtual 'saloon' and levitated them, ready to use them as offensive weapons against Logan.

That was before she felt a powerful push on her back that catapulted her forward and over the bar table as ungraciously as humanly possible. "Hey!" she yelled, quickly jumping to her feet and using her psychokinesis to hurl every bottle of liquor behind her at the direction where the attack had come from. Logan simply grinned though, batting away the pesky projectiles with the claws on one hand with ease.

"Not bad," he said. "Right application of your powers and you could be a real problem. Wrong mindset though. You're viewing this as a game, for one."

"Yeah?" asked Jean, not letting up in her barrage. "And?"

"And, you're not creative enough," Logan answered, now within arm's reach. "Nothing a couple of these sessions won't bring out though." With that, he reached out, grabbed Jean's arm and flung her all the way to the other side of the room in a classic judo maneuver. Had the combat not been simulated, it would have resulted in a lot of pain and a couple broken bones for Jean. So she was quite surprised when she got up to find that despite having landed with a jarring thud on a chair, she felt no pain whatsoever, just an instinctive knowledge that she had received damage. It was like a video game, she thought.

Logan sighed and turned to leave. Jean and Ororo's flag obviously wasn't in the saloon, and as much as he wanted to teach Jean, he also wanted to win. He had just stepped past the doorway when a heavy wooden chair slammed into his back between his shoulder blades. Thanks to the program, it didn't hurt but it did get his attention, as well as lessen his health. The program did take into account his healing factor and adamantium-laced bones, so the damage inflicted was quite miniscule.

He turned around to see Jean, on her feet, and with two more chairs hovering in the air on either side of her. "Creative enough?' she asked before she sent both smashing into Logan at considerable speed. The program outdid itself, causing both the chairs to shatter on impact. A little more health slipped away from his health meter.

Logan smiled and turned around, secretly pleased that Jean had found a reliable offensive strategy with her powers. "Not bad," he said. "What else you got?"

Meanwhile outside, it looked like the Fourth of July, what with all the energy streaking around. Crimson beams from Scott and jagged bolts of lightning from Ororo, which were becoming increasingly difficult for Scott to dodge. Finally though, he saw salvation in the form of a large building that said General Store.

In a move that he had honed to perfection for months, he turned his momentum into a log roll, sniping off a quick shot at Ororo that zipped past her left ear and forced her stop the barrage momentarily. That was all the time Scott needed to get in position behind a window that offered him a decent shot at Ororo. He pressed the palm controls on his visor (another new feature), and set them for a rapid flutter-shot spread of energy. Most of the beams went over Ororo's head, thanks to her descent, but a few managed to hit their mark, lowering Ororo's health status to critical.

That was the upside. The downside was that now Ororo knew precisely where he was and she wasted no time in summoning down bolt after bolt of lightning. Scott already knew what that meant, especially if the computer program that ran the scenario took into account the material that was used in making buildings at that time in history. The Danger Room did not disappoint, and soon, the entire roof was on fire.

Scott leapt back just in time to avoid a falling support beam, now engulfed in flames. Thinking quickly, Scott swiveled around, fingering the palm controls for his visor once more. The resulting energy beam punched clear through the opposite wall, and Scott dived right through the opening, blunting the impact of his fall with a roll that carried him just out of reach of the collapsing storefront.

Not bad, Ms. Munroe, he thought, hiding behind the destroyed building as long as possible to hide the fact that he had escaped. He was impressed; having had no idea that Ororo possessed the ability to unleash such devastating attacks. Had he been a second slower, he would have lost all of his health immediately.

In the sky, Ororo watched the burning building carefully. She had seen a burst of crimson energy, signaling that there was a chance Scott was still in the game. No matter though, another well-placed lightning bolt would finish him off in no time. Just as soon as the building collapsed . . .

She saw the flash of blue below her a fraction of a second too late to respond, and paid dearly for it. Moving faster than any normal kid his age should have been able to, he had sprinted in a straight line right in front of her, dived so that he was facing up, and let loose a singular blast that penetrated Ororo's right leg.

Of course, such an occurrence would have normally been for all means and purposes an amputation, but given the simulated nature of the Danger Room scenario Ororo only felt a brief tingle where the beam passed through her leg. Then her entire world disappeared.

When her vision came back into focus, Ororo found herself standing in the middle of the Danger Room. The old one, with the metal walls and floor. No more Wild West ghost town.

"Well done, Ororo," Xavier congratulated from behind her.

She turned around, confused. "What happened?" she asked.

Xavier's congratulatory expression did not change. "You died," he said. "That blast clipped your femoral artery. You had no way of surviving with an injury that grievous in the middle of a battlefield, so the program simply took you out."

Ororo stared at him. "It took a kid half my age thirty seconds to beat me," she said in a disbelieving tone. "How useless is that?"

Xavier smiled. "Half your age, Ororo? That would make you something like thirty years old, which we both know you are not. In truth, I am not surprised at all. Scott has been forced to fend for himself for most of his life before he even came to my door. And since, then daily practicing sessions in the Danger Room have been part of his daily routine."

"Right," said Ororo. "I guess it's all up to Jean now."

Xavier smiled. "She'll be joining you shortly, Ororo. As much experience as Scott has, its nothing compared to Logan's past working in commando units for various governments. There is absolutely no way Jean can beat him and get past Scott to the other team's flag."

Ororo frowned. "If it's a lost cause to begin with, then why did we do the exercise anyway?"

Xavier chuckled. "You were the one who insisted that teams be divided upon gender. The original plan was that you would be paired with Scott, and Logan with Jean. One adult, one teenager. Still, I think this session has helped, if only to get you accustomed to the way the new Danger Room Software works." He sighed. "As for your own experience, I can assure you that the entire team will be spending a great deal of time in the Danger Room from now on, except working as a team instead of against each other. We don't have much time, Ororo, make no mistake about that fact. Magneto is still gathering his forces, preparing for his attack. We must be ready, and that means increasing your skills and your reflexes and most importantly, your ability to function as a cohesive unit."

He leaned back in his chair. "That means no personal tiffs, Ororo. At least none that will affect in any way what I have just told you."

"You mean Logan and myself."

"Whatever petty differences you have, I would strongly suggest that you find a way to make them go away. There is one obvious solution, but that is for you and Logan to find on your own. That said, I really don't want any more bickering. Both of you are more mature than that, and interpersonal conflict is the last thing that this team needs. Do I make myself clear?"

Ororo felt slightly stung by the admonishing tone in the Professor's voice, but saw the truth in his words anyway. "Crystal," she said.

***********************************

Scott saw Duncan and his friends in the reflection of his locker's silver combination before he actually saw them face-to-face. Turning around confirmed what he already knew, that the three boys had him surrounded. The looks on their faces were more than enough confirmation to erase any doubt of their intentions.

"Hey Summers," said Duncan once Scott had turned around to look at him. "How ya doin."

Scott said nothing. Maybe they would just go away. They weren't, after all, stupid enough to start a fight in the middle of a school hallway.

That was when he noticed that they didn't have to be. His locker was in the basement, next to the secondary gym that saw use maybe once a year. On its best days, this particular hallway had about five people walking through it at a time. And this was not one of its best days. Scott, Duncan, and his two friends were all alone.

"He asked you a question, Shades," said one of the friends, the one that Scott had not-too-pleasantly introduced to the floor at Duncan's party.

"And I didn't answer," Scott said simply, putting his far-too-heavy textbooks in his bag one by one.

Duncan shook his head. "See now, that's pretty rude, Summers. Someone asks you a question, you're supposed to answer it."

"I don't have time for this," Scott began, pushing his way past Duncan. The end of his sentence came out as a whoosh of air however, as Duncan punched him hard in the stomach. For a few seconds, Scott couldn't breathe, dropping to his knees as he tried to take in a breath. That was when the third boy, Duncan's other friend, kicked him in the ribs. Scott had seen the blow coming and rolled with it, blunting the impact. But it still hurt a lot.

Scott kept rolling, his combat lessons from Logan kicking in. He was momentarily defenseless, so the key was putting space between him and his attackers. Duncan ran after him, but Scott kicked him in the shin and then got up to deal with another problem: Duncan's friends.

The bigger one swung a haymaker that would have been devastating if it had connected. Scott evaded though, just as Logan had drilled into him dozens of times before. He twisted, bending back and arcing his body well under the punch and twisting right back into position again, this time bringing his left hand with him, moving at incredible speed. He caught the larger guy right in the fleshy area of the neck underneath the jawbone, causing him to cry out in pain and hurl himself away.

Meanwhile, Duncan was coming at him from behind and the other friend advancing from the front. Scott wondered if he would have any choice but to put all of them down hard.

The choice was made for him by Mr. Niceguy, who just happened to come down that particular hallway at the exact instant that the larger guy Scott had so eloquently disposed of hit the ground.

"Hey, break it up," he yelled, his hairpiece shifting all over his head as he walked. "What's going on here? Summers? Matthews?"

No one answered. Perhaps, Scott thought, if he was very quiet Niceguy would overlook the whole thing . . .

*********************************

"Detention?" Taryn said with wonder, sitting across from Scott in the after-school room, which more resembled a closet than an actual room. "You? I can't believe it. How?"

"What? I'm like a saint now?"

Taryn chuckled. "Well yeah, Mr. Straight-A. In this school, you are. And all your teachers love you. What could you have possibly done to get thrown into detention?"

Scott arched his eyebrow at Jean's friend's impression of him. "It's a long story," he said.

"And detention is a long wait. So spill!"

Scott couldn't help but smile at her straightforward approach. He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head. "Well, to make a long story short, I got into a little . . .what was it they called it . . .roughhousing. Yep, that's it. I was roughhousing with Duncan and two of his friends when Niceguy caught us and smacked us all in detention."

"So where are the Three Stooges?"

Scott shrugged. "They probably chose to serve their sentence after school." He gave Taryn an inquisitive look. "You really don't like Duncan very much, do you?"

"He's not my favorite person in the world. We used to go out."

"And?" Scott found himself asking.

Taryn gave a secretive smile. "Just trust me, I know from firsthand experience what a jerk he can be. What I don't know is why he's so mad at you though?"

Nice evasion, thought Scott at the way she had so deftly avoided the question. "He said some things about Jean. Real nasty stuff. It was at a party. I didn't quite appreciate the things he was saying, so I punched him."

The look that Taryn gave him told Scott that she found what he'd just said hard to believe. "Its hard to imagine you hurting a fly, Scott. Much less a jock who, while having an IQ lower than his shoe size, is still practically Goliath to your David.

Scott shrugged. "I have the bruised knuckles and a welt on my ribcage to prove it."

"You and Jean must be close, huh?"

"Yeah," said Scott.

"I mean, I never really got what the deal was between you two," continued Taryn. "Are you just friends? Friends with benefits? Going steady? Engaged to be married?"

Scott laughed slyly. "That's it. We're engaged to be married. Her parents and mine arranged the marriage when we were three months old, and in fact, on her eighteenth birthday-"

"Okay, Okay," interrupted Taryn, already giggling. "I get the point." She calmed down and took a deep breath. "Seriously though."

Scott leaned back as he often did when forced to think. It was a rather straightforward question, but despite the fact that it was the same one he'd been poring over for days now, there was no straightforward answer.

Taryn arched an eyebrow. "You don't know, do you?"

Embarrassed, Scott shrugged. "I guess not."

Taryn nodded, then abruptly changed the subject. "So tell me about your eye condition," she said. "I'm curious."

"I have an extreme sensitivity to light," said Scott without skipping a beat, glad he could now answer a question he was better prepared for.

"That's it?" Taryn asked skeptically.

Scott frowned. "Yeah, why?"

"My dad is an optometrist," answered Taryn. "I told him about you, and he said he thinks he can help."

"Oh."

"Exactly. You may have something called photophobia, which results in being extremely affected by light. What they can do now though, is use a process by which they basically implant an artificial iris that will adequately block light and return the proper function of your eyes. My dad also said that if you come in he could do it for less than half the normal price, being a friend of mine."

Taryn waited. She had hoped that looking into Scott's condition and discussing it with her dad would perhaps earn her gratitude, if not more. She had even cajoled her father into giving a large discount to Scott on the operation should he choose to come in.

Scott's expression was not one of gratitude however, it was one of shock. He knew that he should at least pretend to be thrilled, but it was an emotion he couldn't muster. Taryn had done nothing wrong, but he knew she would be suspicious if he suddenly turned down her offer. But he would have to. It would take an eye doctor all of a second to discover that Scott's 'eye condition' was far more than he'd said, and that was something he could not allow to happen.

"Scott?" said Taryn, confused. "I-I guess I thought you'd be a little bit more pleased. Did you hear what I said?"

Scott managed a smile. "I did, and I guess I don't know what to say."

"I know it's a bit odd, bringing this up in the middle of detention of all places, but you're here, and I thought that now was as good a time as any."

Scott was about to answer, but then the telltale tone of the bell rang, signifying that the hour was over. He flashed Taryn an apologetic smile. "Well I guess we'd better get going," he said.

"Yeah," Taryn replied, standing up and slipping on her backpack. "I'll get back to you about the eye thing, OK?"

Scott heaved an inward sigh. "Yeah, okay."

***********************************************

On Manhattan Island, East 27th street, West Houston Street, Four figures clad in dark trenchcoats strolled down the bustling sidewalk, somehow never breaking formation.

One opportunistic pickpocket happened to spot them out of the corner of his eye, already having marked them as prey, given that they were quite clearly new here. Three dudes and a chick. He decided to go for the chick and so he rushed to the nearest intersection and waited. Once they were within range, he suddenly began rushing in the opposite direction of the crowd of people, eliciting a few startled 'hey!'s, but he didn't care about that. Instead, he honed in on the chick's trench coat pocket, hand moving in lighting fast to yank out whatever possessions she was carrying inside.

The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was seeing her chilling gaze suddenly swing toward him. The his hand had erupted in pain and he blacked out, only to wake up an hour later in a hospital with his left hand so badly mangled that the nurse had fainted upon seeing it.

"Come now sister," murmured Pietro, "was that really necessary?"

"More than five ingrates have attempted to steal from me since our arrival on this filthy island," scowled Wanda. "It was beginning to annoy me."

If Magneto had any reservations about the way that Wanda had handled the would-be pickpocket, he did not voice them. In fact, he seemed downright pleased. "Mastermind, are all squads in place?" he asked, directing the question to Jason Wyngarde.

Wyngarde looked down at the portable electronic device in his hand. "Another twenty minutes," he said.

Magneto smiled. "Very good. Once we are set, Phase 1 of Operation Blackout will begin."


	15. Chapter 15

The rest of the Institute's residents slept, oblivious to the scream. But Logan had been awake anyway, engaged in his nightly calisthenics routine when his fine-tuned hearing picked up the sound.

Snarling, he leaped to his feet and unsheathed his claws, bolting out the doors of his quarters and up the stairs to Storm's. The scream had been distinctively hers, and although part of him didn't even want to know what sort of terrible forces could frighten such a powerful woman, the other part felt the instinctive need to rush to her aid. Whoever it was they'd wish to God they hadn't broken into the Institute when he was through.

"'Ro!" he yelled, vaulting down the upstairs corridor and knocking forcefully on her door. If he had looked closer, he would have seen that the door was already slightly ajar, but as it was even that amount force was enough to make it swing wide open. "Ro are you-"

He paused at the sight that greeted him, the rest of his sentence completely failing him. There she was, the Institute's resident weather witch, sitting on the edge of her bed with her hands buried in her face. Her shoulders heaving as if she were. . .crying.

It was dark inside the room, save the faint luminescence of moonlight that bathed the interior in hues of light blue. Even with this, it would have been hard to see were it not for Logan's enhanced eyesight. As it was, he could see her perfectly. The way her hair hung limply down her back and shoulders, and the way her frame shook from the force of her sobs. He could hear them, pained and anguished. Clearly, whatever the problem was it would not be solved with claws. With a sharp _snikt_, he retracted them, at a complete loss for what to say.

That was when Ororo snapped out of her daze, her head coming up out of her hands to see Logan standing there in her doorway, shirtless. His hair was tousled, though it wasn't an entirely unpleasant look, a small voice in her mind told her. The far larger part of her, however, had a much more straightforward question.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" she demanded suddenly, wiping tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I-" Logan began. "I heard a scream. From you."

Ororo's eyes widened. "Did I scream?"

"Yes, but why don't you remember?" asked Logan pointedly.

Ororo tried to maintain her glare, but she couldn't. She was just too tired, and it was certainly impossible to be mad at Logan right now, especially since he'd come charging to her rescue like that. With a defeated sigh she patted the spot on the bed next to her."

"What's goin' on 'Ro?" Logan asked.

"I'm telling you to sit down, that's what. I'm about to share something with you that I've never shared with anyone, so hurry up and get over here before temporary insanity wears off and I change my mind. She looked at him pointedly. "Call it my way of making up for my part in the childish spats we always get into."

"Yeah," said Logan slowly, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. Nevertheless, he did sit down, wondering what in blazes she was about to tell him.

"There are some things. . .basics really, that I feel free to share with everyone about my past," Ororo began. "That I was born in Kenya, orphaned and raised in squalor, and that sometime late I came to America."

Logan nodded, remembering these bits and pieces of his teammate's past that she had shared.

Ororo went on. "What I tend not to tell people though is how I lost both of my parents. You see, I was four years old when they were taken away from me. My mother the daughter of a military officer and my father was an American photojournalist, who met her while on assignment. They fell in love, and against my mother's parents' wishes they married. My mother. . .I have memories of her telling me how much she couldn't wait to go to America. My father had promised to bring us both back with him, and every night he would tell us stories of the wonders to be found here. . ."

"What happened 'Ro?" Logan asked softly when her voice broke.

"Ah, well we were all set to go," she said. "We'd bought plane tickets and everything, and we were saying goodbye to my grandfather, the military officer, at a local hotel. Those days, many of the senior military officers would buy out whole wings of hotels and use them rather than remain fixed in one spot. By converting the hotels into temporary military bases, they avoided the inconvenience of having to remain at a single station." Her voice broke again, but this time she recovered, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"Those were dangerous times altogether," she said. "A coup had just been defeated, and the ruling party was still trying to re-stabilize the country and find the military insurgents. Some of those same insurgents, none too pleased about the outcome of their attempted coup, planned a little revenge of their own. They commandeered one of the Air Force's fighter planes, secured information about the location of the ruling party's top military officials. . .and blew that hotel to all hell, with me, my parents and grandparents inside.

"Damn," was all Logan could think to say. In his long and violent history he had seen more than his fair share of bombings, not to mention the destruction that warplanes could unleash. That Ororo had had to learn those same lessons, the hard way, when she was only four was shocking.

There were tears in Ororo's eyes now, and so she'd averted them, staring off into space as she continued her story. "Every family member I had ever met was erased from this earth with the press of a button," she said. "Blown away by some idiot fanatic with a Kenyan Air Force badge. I was in the opposite side of the hotel at the time, in the basement. Tons and Tons of cement and metal rained down, but a little pocket, just big enough for my small body, had formed. It protected me from death, but. . .I was buried alive. I couldn't move, could barely breathe. . .I couldn't so much as stretch a leg or an arm. It was pitch black, and the only sound I could hear was the scurrying of rats and insects, gorging themselves on the ample dead flesh buried around me."

Logan impulsively pulled Ororo to him, sliding his arm around her shoulders and drawing her in. There was a brief moment of resistance, and he almost thought he'd earned himself a slap or worse. But then, as if she were melting in his arms, she relented. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, and with her right arm she returned the semi-embrace. Giving her a quick, comforting squeeze, he asked, "How long were you down there?"

"A little over a week."

Logan's brows rose at this. "How?"

"My powers," Ororo explained, her voice muffled against his chest. When they finally did find me, I was covered in water, yet there weren't any sources of water that could have sustained me down there." She gave an ironic laugh. "Turns out the whole time, I was unconsciously using my powers to drain ambient moisture from the air pockets around me. It's the only reason I survived that long."

Logan mulled over all that she had just told him for several moments, trying to put two and two together in his mind. "You still have nightmares about, it don't you?" he said gently.

She nodded against him. "Horrible, horrible nightmares Logan. That week was by far the worst experience I've ever had. I've been extremely claustrophobic ever since, and even when that's not being actively triggered, those dreams haunt me at night." She looked up at him. "They must be getting worse though, because I think this is first time I've ever actually screamed. . ."

"First time I heard you anyway," he muttered. "You scared the hell outta me 'Ro, I didn't know what'd happened to you."

"Oh, I'm sorry Logan." Ororo pulled back just then, so she could better see him. "I figured that must've happened when you came rushing in here like a crazed. . ."

Logan smirked. "A crazed _what_?"

"Brute," finished the white-haired woman, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. At his look of outrage, she placed a restraining hand on his chest so she could continue. "I must confess though, for a brute you're not all that bad Logan. In fact it was actually pretty sweet of you to come rushing up here like that."

"Yeah, well for a hippie you ain't so bad yourself," said Logan, "And listen, about all the arguin' and stuff we usually get into. . ."

"I'll forget it if you will," Ororo finished for him. "What do you say Logan? Clean slate?"

He smiled. "I think I'd like that."

Having made amends, both X-men suddenly found themselves extremely aware of the fact that were together on a bed in the middle of the night, and with not much in the way of clothes between them. Logan's eyes had dropped scandalously low, something that almost embarrassed him until he realized that hers had done the same.

Once or twice, he'd warned Scott about situations like this. Dark rooms, close proximity to a girl (or woman in this case), sexual tension so thick you could slice it. . .but then again he was an adult, and so was 'Ro. And even in the dim light, with her tousled white hair and an oversized tee that did nothing to hide the toned shape and smooth brown skin of her legs. . .hell, she was gorgeous. Her eyes, they were boring into him now, a lightning storm behind them that crackled with anticipation and desire. She wasn't telling him to kiss her, not out loud anyway. However, those eyes sent as clear a signal as she could have ever spoken. His eyes were probably doing the same thing. . .

He didn't kiss her. He knew he'd probably be kicking himself for it all night, but he also knew that now wasn't the time. Instead, he leaned in hugged her warmly and stood to his feet. Looking down at Ororo, he could see the confusion in her eyes.

"You're. . .leaving?" she said.

"I think I should, 'Ro."

She nodded. "Well thank you Logan, for listening. You have no idea how good it felt to be able to tell someone about that."

"I'm honored" he told her sincerely. "Part of me wonders if I'm even worthy to have heard that, given the way I've acted toward you."

"Oh, don't be silly. That was just as much fault mine as it was yours, and besides, I think you're the perfect person I should have told." She smiled at him. "Clearly you have a great deal of sorrow in your own past as well. . .I guess I figured if anyone would be able to truly understand that part of me, it would be you."

"Well, I'm glad you told me," said Logan. "Anytime you wanna talk somethin' out, I'll gladly be there, okay?"

"And vice versa," said Ororo, stretching back languidly with an impish smile. "Well goodnight then Logan."

Logan took one last look at her (mentally kicking himself for not kissing her when he'd almost certainly had the chance). "Night 'Ro," he said. "Sleep tight."

**************************************************************

Jean was more than a little surprised the next morning when she came downstairs to an empty kitchen. She could still smell breakfast, courtesy of Scott, but it was odd that everyone wasn't at the table as usual.

"In here Jean," called the Professor from the living room. Jean entered to find Scott, Logan, Ororo, and the Professor, the first three sitting on the sofa and looking at the TV screen with rapt attention.

"Um, good morning guys. . ." She found an empty seat next to Scott, glad that he'd saved it for her. "What'd I miss?"

The news story went on commercial break just then, so Xavier explained. "It would seem there have been widespread unexplained blackouts all over Manhattan," he said. Only emergency services, such as hospitals have been left unaffected. This specific targeting strongly suggests that it is an orchestrated attack, and the general fear is that it might be part of some new terrorist ploy."

"But if it was terrorists, why would they spare the hospitals?" wondered Jean aloud.

"Exactly." Xavier clasped his hands together, worry etched across his face. "I have a bad feeling about this though. No one stops at a mere blackout. Clearly this a prelude to something far worse, and I for one shudder to imagine what that might be."

"Well, we'll see what happens when it happens," said Logan, rising to his feet. "Til then, no use worryin' about it in front of a TV screen." He chuckled. "Specially when there's so much fun in the Danger Room to be had."

"Think I could at least get some breakfast first?" said Jean, clearly unhappy with the idea.

Logan shrugged. "Go for it kiddo, just be down in a half hour. Got some new simulations I've been achin' to try out. . ."

******************************************************

Magneto was exhausted. After all, crippling an entire city with controlled EMP bursts was no easy tasks. He'd never expended so much energy with so much finesse before, although the results had been spectacular. Manhattan was a city in chaos, every building, home, business. . .completely powerless. As it was, no one had any idea how he'd done it, or even who he was. 'Terrorist' was the most common word he'd heard floating around.

Terror? He'd show them terror alright. He would drive the humans out of this city and claim it as his own, a mutant empire set right in the heart of America. And then mutants from all over the world would flock to his cause.

A petite, blond woman walked in just then. Her name was Lorelai, and when she had joined his cause, he'd seen a very special use for her powers. Dubbed 'tactile telepathy', she could sense the telepathic residue left on an object by touching it, and even imbue object with her own telepathic energies. In a fight, she was completely useless unless touching her opponent, but her particular powers would be of great importance to him.

"It is done," she said simply, her voice soft an hoarse. And then she held up his helmet.

Magneto grasped it magnetically and levitated the helmet in front of him. It certainly didn't look any different, but then again he was no telepath. "As per my specifications?"

Lorelai nodded. "I've created a telepathic shield around the entire helmet. It is not an exaggeration or boast of arrogance when I tell you that no telepath on earth could penetrate it. While wearing this helmet, your mind will be untouchable."

Magneto smiled. She was direct, but he liked that. "Very good, Lorelai. You have done me an invaluable service."

"And you I," she said in that whispering voice of hers as she left.

**********************************************************************

The Danger Room was exhausting, but when given the opportunity to work as a team the Institute's members shone far brighter than even Xavier could have dared hoped. The Danger Room modifications that he and Logan had worked on were more than formidable, not to mention the extras he'd thrown in that would even surprise Logan. But clearly, the four members had learned to function as an effective unit.

He watched from the monitor room as Jean and Storm combined telekinesis and wind to hurl Logan at an advancing attack helicopter. As he hurtled toward the airborne vehicle, his claws exploded outward with a metallic shriek, and he whipped his body around, slashing the underbelly of the chopper to ribbons and effectively ending its attack.

Now falling once again, he relied on Storm to create a cushion of wind as he landed. Meanwhile, Scott was protecting their flank against the oncoming infantry soldiers, his beams sweeping a wide path of destruction through their ranks. Jean, most importantly, was establishing a telepathic rapport through which all members could communicate at literally the speed of thought. It made for an eerily silent performance.

But a performance it was, and they had passed with flying colors. Xavier only wished he could be sure they wouldn't need those skills very soon.

"Very good, team," he congratulated them over the Danger Room's intercom system. "The rest of the day is yours, to do with what you wish."

*************************************************

Two teleporters, mused Magneto. They were certainly a rare breed, but they would be essential in the next phase of his plans. He eyed the two mutants standing before him. One, a woman with magenta-hued skin and blank, glowing eyes. The other was a gaunt, bald man who seemed to have some sort of nervous twitch in his shoulder. Puerto had confessed that he found the both of them to be a bit creepy. Magneto could see why. . .

"My Acolytes tell me that you two are skilled teleporters," Magneto began. "I would like a demonstration."

"Certainly," said that bald man, Franklin, if memory served correctly. And then he vanished. No light show or puff of smoke- he was just _gone_.

"Oh my," murmured Magneto.

"Thank you," came Franklin's voice from behind him. Magneto glanced over his shoulder and indeed, there he stood as if it had been his position the entire time.

"Very impressive, Franklin. Now tell me, how many people can you take with you?"

"One tops," admitted the man, walking around to his previous spot. "Its not an issue of mass, but volume. There's a fixed area that I can teleport, using my body as a radius. However, anything within that area is easy to move, and my effective range is virtually anything within my line of sight."

"How fast do you think you could move a group of, say twenty people?"

"Well, um. . .it would have to be one by one, but I can do it pretty fast so I'd say a minute tops."

Magneto nodded, then turned to the woman. "And you-"

"Blink," she supplied. "And the way my powers work is a bit more complicated. I must confess I don't fully understand them myself- but I do know that the range of my abilities can easily accommodate large groups of people, or objects, or really any form of matter. I don't believe you will be disappointed."

Magneto smiled. "Neither do I, Blink. Now, would you like to know what it is you two are going to do for me?"

Both mutants nodded. But when he told them, neither one could contain their shock.

"No way," breathed Blink

"Impossible," coughed Franklin,

"Just follow my lead," Magneto assured both of them. "And today, you will make history."

**************************************************

If Logan had expected things to be awkward between him and Ororo after last night, he was in for a surprise. She acted completely normal toward him, toward everyone really. There was friendly teasing here and there, but she certainly didn't seem to be obsessing over it like he did.

That said, he wondered if it had just been too long since he'd had to do this whole mating dance. The last woman he'd been involved with was a quiet, reserved Japanese beauty named Mariko. She was practically the antithesis of Ororo. . .so maybe he'd just imagined all those sparks from last night. Perhaps he wasn't as good at reading the opposite sex as he'd thought.

As usual, his preferred activity when deep in thought was a motorcycle ride on the outskirts of town, where pesky things like speed limits and stop signs were a rarity. It had turned into a beautiful day outside, and with his hyper-acute senses the smell, sound, and feel of the great outdoors was dizzyingly perfect.

The stray gust of wind, out of place as it was in the otherwise still air was his first clue that he had company. And then what had begun as a indistinct shadow on the ground in front of him began to grow and take shape. He swung his gaze skyward, to see none other than Ororo gliding in the air above him, furious winds propelling her fast enough to keep up at his cruising speed.

With a daring smile, she swooped down, as graceful as a bird in flight. Her mane of snow white hair waved behind her like a silver streamer. Clearly, she had gotten a better handle on her powers, as she was actually able to fly at almost-eye level with Logan.

"Heya," she said.

"Showoff," muttered, Logan, still unable to hide his smile at seeing. It had been a hell of an impressive display."

"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss," Ororo shot back good naturedly. "Where are you headed?"

"A little tavern, about twenty miles north of here," said Logan. "I haven't been in a while, and I figured I'd go back to the one place I know I can get a good drink and good music for a good price."

"What about good company?" inquired Ororo, her nonchalant tone completely at odds with the fact that she was being carried at speeds of over sixty miles per hour by nothing but wind.

"You wanna come with?" asked Logan, surprised. "I really don't think its your kinda place. . ."

Ororo laughed. "Maybe I'm curious about what the mysterious Logan does in his free time, other than polish his motorcycle and run through Danger Room sessions. Besides, I like good food and good drinks and music. Sounds exactly like my kinda place to me."

Logan arched an eyebrow but didn't contradict her. "You planning' on flyin' the whole way?"

"Ha." In one fell swoop she glided close, wrapped her arms around his torso, and then settled herself gently onto the bike. "Without the cape, it gets kinda tiresome after a while," she informed him.

"Suit yerself." Logan squared his shoulders to allow her a more comfortable grip, and then increased his speed back to previous levels. "Don't say I didn't warn you though."

"As if." Ororo smiled to herself and then nestled her head back into Logan's back. His leather jacket smelled good. . ._really_ good. And the feel of his powerful frame in her arms wasn't too unpleasant either. She felt like she was in a James Dean movie or something, riding on the motorcycle of this rugged, mysterious man.

Twenty miles, he'd said. And then she would have the conversation with him that she'd been planning all day.

***********************************************************

"The structural vulnerabilities of a bridge are numerous," said Magneto as he addressed the mutants gathered in front of him. Pietro, Wanda, St. John, Thunderclap, Mastermind, Lorelai, Blink, and Franklin numbered among them, though the entire group consisted of over forty mutants that had been accepted into his inner circle. All of their powers would be necessary for his plans to take place.

"What kind of bridge, mate?" wondered St. John aloud. "You mean, like, that one on the projector?"

"Of course," said Magneto. "This, in case you were all wondering, is the Manhattan Bridge. It's total length is six thousand, eight hundred and fifty-five feet. It has seven lanes of roadway, carries four trains, as well as bicycles and pedestrians. It crosses New York City's East River and connects Lower Manhattan to the Brooklyn mainland. It is, in a word, _magnificent_, a glorious feat of architecture and engineering." He paused to allow the display image of the bridge to fully pan. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to destroy it."

He'd used cheap theatrics, true. . .but they paid off. Every assembled member of his Brotherhood gasped, with a few hushed murmurs of 'no way' thrown in for good measure. Blink and Franklin especially looked dubious, as this probably seemed even harder to pull off than what he'd told them they would do earlier.

"Manhattan is an island," Magneto continued, as if unaware of the disbelief on his audience's faces. "Culturally, it is clearly a part of greater New York, and in turn the United States. But geographically, it is far more independent. A floating landmass tethered to this land by such bridges as this one. Once we destroy those, Our control of Manhattan will be well on its way."

"Right, like, the government's just going to let us get away with pirating a whole city," scoffed St. John. They'll just send in the army on boats and planes, and even all of us can't fight off the entire military. There's no way the President'll stand for that."

"The president," said Magneto thoughtfully, turning to Blink and Franklin. "Funny you should mention him. . ."

*******************************************************************

"My apologies for the delay, Mr. President," said the driver of the presidential limousine. "We'll have you outta here in no time though sir."

Octavio Landon, President of the United States of America clasped his hands thoughtfully. "I understand, given the circumstances," he said. "Looks like they got us pretty good, EMP attack and all that."

"Yes, it rendered all of our airborne transports inoperable. As it is, the media thinks you're already safe and out of harm's way, but we still can't take any chances. That's why there are several decoy limousines headed off of Manhattan in separate directions. Once we're back on the mainland and out of the affected range, you'll be flown back to Washington D.C. immed-"

Presidential limousines are designed to withstand everything from bullets to handheld rocket attacks. Bulletproof tires and glass, armored doors, and even offensive gun turret capabilities number among its modifications. But even such as powerful vehicles as this need drivers, and as far as President Landon could tell, the Secret Service agent in charge of that particular task had just. . .disappeared.

His protection team was quick to respond, the agent seated to his left instantly unbuckling and leaping over the driver's headrest into the seat. He regained control just in time to keep from colliding into a light pole. "Agent down!" he yelled, over his collar mike. We have an unexplained disappearance- oh _shit_!"

In the seat next to him was a gray capsule the size of a tennis ball emitting a strange beeping noise. Then, with a _pfftshhhhhh, _it sprung open, pink gas quickly filling the limo's interior. The new driver had just enough presence of mind to pull over before succumbing to the knockout gas. And the president wondered if he was dreaming, as a beautiful girl with skin the color of magenta suddenly appeared in front of him.

And then he was gone.

**************************************************************

**AN**: Well, this is one for the stories that I felt the worst for having to abandon during my high school absence from . I'd really enjoyed it, but was forced to take a break from fan fiction, among other things, for quite a while. Having returned in some capacity though, I decided to just go on and finish this one. At any rate, I hope you liked. . .and for future reference I don't intend to let my chaps get much longer than this lol.

**PS**: My apologies if I've mangled any of the information about Manhattan or New York. You see, I've never been to the East coast and so literally this entire part of my plot is based on wikipedia articles and the (faint) memory of the novel from which I adapted Magneto's plot. I forget the title since its been years since I read it, but it's a very good read (especially if you're a nineties X-men fan).


	16. Chapter 16

A/N_: Whelp! Here's the next chapter squeezed in right before the end of summer. Usual disclaimers apply: I don't own the X-men (if I did, Evo would probably still be on the air) or any characters within their universe._

_I should warn that this chapter definitely earns its teen rating, and is a bit longer than the previous ones. That said, I hope you enjoy and that regardless you take the time to give a bit of much-appreciated feedback. _

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"Condor has disappeared! Repeat, Condor has disappeared!"

"Agent Caruso, come in! Respond immediately, Agent Caruso!"

"This is a Code Delta alert! Effective immediately, all Secret Service personnel within a five mile radius of Sprite's current location are to implement appropriate protective measures."

"Sir, no response from Caruso or Condor. Goddamn radios. . .Sprite is secure. Over."

The Secret Service field office in New York City had never seen so much chaos. The president of the United States, codename Condor, had disappeared. It was a horrifying first for the agency. After all, while presidents had been shot and even killed under Secret Service protection, the possibility of one being _kidnapped_ from right under their noses was unthinkable.

The phones were ringing off the hooks. Every function of the Secret Service that was nonessential to the immediate location of Condor or the protection of Vice President Hanover (codename Sprite) had ground to a virtual standstill. The First Lady and her daughter had been whisked away to a safe house in Albany. Both were hysterical, if the incoming reports from their protective detail could be trusted. And who could blame them?

Agent Sean Cassidy sped away from the facility with the piercing squeal of rubber on pavement, his left hand steering the gleaming back Suburban while the right quickly programmed the onboard GPS to track straight to the Vice President's location. As per her own orders, there was only a minimum contingent of security with her.

Sean prayed it would be enough.

* * *

The restaurant was a true oddity in New York. It was the kind of establishment that would have been more at home in Alabama, or even Texas maybe. The old-fashioned light-up display over the front door read JAKE'S, and it was still partially lit despite the midday sun beating down overhead. The outside had an appealing beige and brown color scheme with windows large enough to make interior lighting redundant in the daytime. Filtered through the glass, sunlight cast the entire dining area in a warm and comfortable light.

Logan had chosen a corner booth, away from the entrance and the majority of the other patrons. On the wall above was a framed photograph of Hugh Jackman, eating in the very booth that he and Ororo now occupied.

"You kind of look like him," Ororo remarked once they'd received their drinks. Logan arched an eyebrow. Took a long swig of his own drink.

"Who?"

She let her gaze drift to the wall. "Hugh Jackman."

"That supposed to ring a bell?"

"You've never heard of-" Ororo looked at him incredulously. "Never mind." She sipped some of her own drink (tea, as opposed to whatever alcoholic concoction Logan had requested) and savored the taste. She was lightheaded enough already, what with all the things she was actually considering telling him. No need to be tipsy on top of that.

Logan regarded her with an inscrutable expression, his blue eyes maddeningly difficult to read. "You know," he said, "Rude as it is to ask a lady what she's thinkin' on the first date, I gotta confess I'm a bit tempted."

"Oh, so this is a date now?"

"Less you've got another word for a man and a woman dining alone," said Logan.

"Ah, well you see I always thought that on a date, it was the man's duty to pay for the lady's food and drink. Yet, here I sit with no meal and a tab for a lemon tea that you haven't so much as mentioned paying for. Under such circumstances, I'm a bit hard-pressed to use the word 'date' as freely as you do." Ororo kept a straight face, but Logan still caught the twinkle in her eye.

"That so?" A playful growl had entered his voice. He signaled to the pretty young waitress at the adjacent table, who seemed delighted to be of service until she noticed Ororo across from him. She gave the African woman a cool once-over, then turned an adoring gaze back to Logan.

"Hi, my name is Staci. What can I get for you today?" the waitress purred, leaning a bit closer than was strictly necessary. If Logan noticed the way she was fawning over him, he wasn't letting it show.

"Wanna split a steak?" he asked Ororo.

"Certainly, Logan." Ororo made a shooing motion with her hand. "We are in a bit of a hurry. . ."

The waitress glared at her, pausing to rest a hand on Logan's forearm. "Well if you need anything else, you just- oh my!"

Ororo had let her eyes go completely white, a trick she hadn't pulled for sport since her preteen years. Still, it was good for making annoying waitresses scurry away.

Once the poor girl was out of earshot, Logan let out a small chuckle. "Was that really necessary 'Ro?"

"Oh c'mon, she was practically. . .molesting you with her eyes."

Logan smirked. "Yeah? What do you care? It's not like we're on a date or anything."

Ororo rolled her eyes, knowing she should have seen that one coming. Logan might've seemed like a simple man when she first met him, but he could play games with the best of them. Even her. And if they kept on like this they'd waste all of the future dancing around but never quite touching what they both knew was there. Right in front of them.

"You asked me what I was thinking."

"I said I was tempted to, yeah."

"You really want to know?"

Logan paused, as if debating whether it was a trick question. "Yeah," he finally answered.

Ororo nodded softly, and then her eyes met his. "I was wondering why you didn't kiss me last night."

He nearly choked on his drink, clearly caught off guard by her frankness."

"Look, you're. . .different than most of the men I've ever known. Different than _me_. You can be temperamental, rude, aggressive-"

"Hey I thought we'd agreed to a clean slate," Logan protested.

"But," Ororo continued as if she hadn't heard him, "you're also brave, strong, loyal. . .and a damn good listener. Rare qualities, Logan. I mean, our differences are no doubt why we clashed so strongly in the first place. But I think they're also why. . ." she trailed off. Even though she knew it was true it was hard to say. She clenched steeling herself to just get it over with

. But then she saw. . .felt Logan's hand cover hers. It was a study in contrasts- the smooth brown skin of her hand and the calloused tan of his. His thumb moved in gentle circles across the back of her hand and she squeezed back never once letting her eyes leave his.

"Me too, 'Ro," said Logan. Simply yet sincerely. "And the reason I didn't kiss you last night is that I'm a complete dumbass. A big stupid. . .whatchacallit, a Neanderthal."

It was the second time during the conversation that Logan had given her own words back to her. Still, Ororo couldn't help but laugh. "So, you _did_ want to kiss me then."

"Still do."

"And you do. . .feel that way about me?"

Logan nodded, amused by the way she'd phrased it even though he knew exactly what she meant. "Yup." He squeezed her hand. "Which, if I'm not mistaken, would make this our first date."

"Ha! Jake's Diner is to be stricken from the record," Ororo informed him. "Doesn't count. You'll have to do a little better than _this_ for a first date with me." She gave him a look that was intended to be stern, but the laughter in her eyes gave it away and as a result she merely ended up looking more beautiful. Full lips curved into a half-smile and eyes alight with mischief. Damn, and she wanted _him._ He felt a like pretty lucky guy.

At that moment, they were interrupted. Not by a waitress, but by an announcement from the manager. A middle-aged man in his early fifties, he could have spent the rest of his life trying to get the patrons' attention with no luck, were it not for the intercom mike in his hand. One cough to clear his throat and the entire place went deathly quiet.

"Um, sorry to intrude everyone," he began. "But it has come to my attention that. . .well, I'll let the TV explain." With those cryptic words, he picked up a remote and turned on the news.

Five seconds later, Logan heard a collective gasp. Given the remote location of their table, which he'd chosen from an old habit to always have the entrances and exits of place within view, neither he nor Ororo could see the television.

Not that they needed to. At that exact moment, Xavier's mental voice was reaching them, panic tingeing the professor's usually calm demeanor. _Return to the Institute at once! There is a. . .situation_.

* * *

"Crikey," muttered St. John as he and the rest of the demolition squad stepped out onto the sidewalk. "It's bloody enormous."

Looking at the bridge from the same vantage point, Wanda had to agree. On maps it looked tiny, a little ribbon strung between island and mainland.

In person, it looked immovable. As steady as a stone tower. Wanda wondered if even Magneto's powers could bring it down. Not that mutant powers would even be used. Magneto's instructions had been very specific on the matter. No overt mutant powers. Not until the president was firmly secured within their new haven.

His second rule allowed a bit more leeway. While civilian casualties were not preferred, it was understood that sacrifices had to be made such an undertaking as this. They were, after all, about to make outright war on the most powerful nation on earth.

With a small _pfft_ sound of displaced air, Pietro materialized next to the group. He was bent over, breathing in bursts like a marathon runner right after the finish line. "Justfinishedplacinbombs," he gasped at last when he could finally speak. "Neverranthatfastbefore."

"And you made sure not to jostle too much, right," St. John pressed. "That Semtex gets a bit tricky and the last thing we need-"

"The kid didn't blow himself up, so just be grateful," interrupted Mastermind. He cracked his knuckles, removed his sunglasses and strolled onto the pedestrian walkway. "How much time are we giving these cattle to evacuate?" he asked.

"Ten minutes," said Wanda, the de facto leader of the group. "Most of the cars are useless anyway thanks to the EMP burst, as is public transportation. Anyone doesn't make it off the bridge, it's their own damn fault."

Mastermind nodded slowly. "I've never used my powers on this many people before," he said. "It'll have to be something pretty simple."

"Get in line," muttered Wanda. "We're all pushin' our limits here." Even as her hands twitched, sparks of chaos energy jumping between her fingertips, she wondered if even her own formidable powers would be enough to realize Magneto's vision.

Not that she needed them just yet. For now, the wonders of modern technology would suffice. She checked her field watch one last time, flipped open her phone to the pre-written text message and hit 'send'.

The bomb was technically useless. Nestled in the least structurally vulnerable part of the bridge and with a blast radius far too small to do any actual damage, this bomb served one purpose and one purpose only. To create panic.

Mastermind, eyes glowing, supplemented the shock of the explosion, projecting a far more terrifying image of roaring fireballs reaching out to consume anything in their path. Predictably, panic took hold. Pedestrians began a mass stampede toward the perceived safety of the mainland while drivers, caught in a jam of epic proportions by even New York standards, abandoned their cars and joined the mob. All of the incoming traffic which had been unaffected by Magneto's EMP burst was instantly halted.

The familiar _thwop thwop thwop_ of helicopters instantly put most of the team on edge, but Wanda raised a hand to prevent them from doing anything stupid. The emergency rescue crews had their own part to play in the evacuation. Let them do what they did best, and then once the bridge was clear the real fireworks would begin.

Another text, this one incoming. Wanda breathed a sigh of relief at the message from headquarters that the president was secure. An ironic choice of words, when you considered that he was no doubt incapacitated and at the mercy of a mutant fighting force that had just made war on America.

"Pietro," she ordered. "They've had enough time. Hit the other bridges."

Her brother nodded, glad for the excuse to be moving, and then vanished in a silver blur heading toward the next bridge. His backpack contained dozens more of the tiny explosive devices that St. John had been able to cobble together. Hopefully, the next bridges would go even faster than this one. All of them were already being evacuated if the city was following protocols. The bridges would be assumed terrorist events. Hell, in a matter of speaking they were.

The emergency crews certainly hadn't wasted any time. After determining that no one was hurt, the helicopters switched tasks to airlifting those had been injured in the initial stampede out of harm's way. Already, federal agents were beginning to arrive on the scene, cordoning off the ends of the bridge as well as the surrounding perimeter on the Manhattan side. Spectators were being pushed back, though the strike team was just far enough away to avoid direct confrontation with the feds.

Wanda cycled to another premade text message. She surveyed the scene one last time. It was as close to ideal as she could get. Any longer and it would be crawling the newly arrived government agents. She inserted her earplugs, paused to make sure the rest of her team had done the same, then pressed 'send'.

This time, the explosion was for more than just show. It was magnificent, the result of twenty-one miniature bombs positioned at every one of the bridge's critical locations. Like shooting out a giant's kneecaps, as St. John had so ineloquently put it.

The sound was deafening. The force of the explosions rent girders and steel braces the size of tennis courts from their moorings. The flames superheated the sides and underbelly of the bridge, while critical components were flung away with furious, high pitched zings. The bridge suddenly sagged to one side, overwhelmed by its own mass. The supports, rendered spectacularly inadequate given the task for which they were named, seemed to simply surrender.

The screams from onlookers who pointed, stared, and snapped photos with their cameras were nothing compared to the bridge's scream as it fell. Despite the earplugs, Wanda could barely stand to hear the horrible wrenching sound as it folded in upon itself.

But still she watched, mesmerized by what she and her companions had just done. What they had accomplished. Magneto's promise that they would send a message to this nation was up there for understatement of the year.

And the humans had no idea what had hit them.

* * *

*

Agent Cassidy felt his heart sink when he saw the paltry two Secret Service vehicles parked outside of the vice presidential lake house. An entire military contingent, complete with tanks and Marine Snipers in the trees might have made him feel more at ease. Because whoever had managed to snatch the president right from under the noses of two highly competent agents was not the type to be easily deterred.

He screeched into a haphazard parking spot of his own making, halfway on the lawn that ringed the manor's circular driveway. Keying on his earpiece, he raced up the manor's front steps. "Any personnel currently tasked to Sprite please report."

"Is that you sir?" came the befuddled reply of a clearly rookie agent.

"Yes!"

Immediately, the massive front doors began to open. Pausing at the top of the stairs to catch his breath, Sean, walked in to be greeted by two young agents. "Where is she?" he asked immediately, clearly not in the mood for chitchat.

"Sir, the wine cellar."

Sean nodded. Relative as 'safe' was in such an unprotected location to begin with, the 'wine cellar' was Secret Service code for the impregnable sub-level built into every safe house. It could only be accessed through a concealed elevator that cross-checked five different biometric signatures before admitting entrance. Inside, the wine cellar held no wine but rather command center with full internet, satellite hookup, and communications enabled. It also held food and water supplies that could theoretically last months. Not to mention that the manor's own formidable defensive weapons were all controlled from that room.

Sean wasted no time in descending the elevator, letting the scanners verify fingerprints, ocular patterns, facial thermographs, voiceprints, and even DNA via a strand of red hair. Having gotten past those measures, he was automatically whisked down to the fabled 'wine cellar'. Fabled because he had never actually seen it before.

When the elevator doors finally opened, he found himself in a room the size of a high school classroom. It was nearly vacant, except that one of the walls seemed to have been replaced with a row of computer monitors and input mechanisms. They were feeding into the manor's security cameras, he realized.

The wine cellar's sole occupants were a young female agent and the vice president. Neither looked surprised to see him.

"Agent Cassidy," clipped the agent, snapping to attention at the arrival of a superior. "Glad to have you here sir. When do we begin relocation of-"

"Not now," interrupted Sean, his cultivated American accent slipping and his Irish brogue showing through. "We have no idea what's going on out there, and seeing as how the president was kidnapped while _en route, _the best place for the Vice President is right here."

The young agent looked puzzled. "Surely more backup is on the way then. . ."

"Possibly," said Sean. "But for now, it's just us. Now why don't you go join the agents upstairs. I'd like to speak with Abigail."

She looked confused at his use of the Vice President's first name, but didn't comment on it. "Sir!" She spun around and promptly exited the room.

Leaving Sean alone with the Vice President, Abigail Hanover. For the first time since arriving, he allowed himself to really look at her. She was seated next to the monitor wall, dressed in a sleeveless green turtleneck and stylish black jeans. With her jet black hair in a classy updo, legs crossed and Audrey Hepburn-esque features sophisticated yet inscrutable, she looked more like a Kenneth Cole model than the Vice President of the United States.

Noting the direction of his gaze, Abigail gave a chagrined smile. "I was about to go shopping," she said by way of explanation of her wardrobe. "I certainly had no idea that Octavio would get kidnapped and I would be sequestered down here." She gestured at the admittedly cramped space.

"Abby." Sean's voice was pained. "Ye shouldn'tve been here in the first place. Even with the 'wine cellar', this place is a security nightmare and-"

"Sprite and Condor must be kept separated at all but the most essential times," she finished for him,

Sean arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, something like that. He gave a small smile. "You know your own codename eh?"

"Of course." Abigail rose from seat to approach Sean. "I'm glad you came," she said, her voice becoming more serious. "And you're right, I should've listened to you before coming to New York. It's just that. . .I grew up here Sean. It's my home and I thought a visit to the lake house wouldn't do any harm. I certainly never imagined that poor Octavio would get kidnapped." She let out a long breath. "Jesus."

"And may the saints preserve us," murmured Sean. He reached out to hug her and she gladly fell into his arms, clinging tightly to him as she tried to hold back tears. Sean didn't say anything, knowing that the woman needed nothing more than the embrace of a friend right now.

Abigail Hanover, the first female Vice President in United States history, had not gotten off on the right foot with Sean at first. Stubborn and strong-willed, she'd often clashed with the senior agent over security issues. Her desire to be accessible to the people and his professional interest in keeping her safe rarely went hand in hand. It didn't help that by many Americans at the time, she was viewed as nothing more than a figurehead to keep the feminists at bay. A vapid, political scion with more beauty than brains.

Sean had shared that view, until one particular protection detail had forced him into the line of fire between her and an obsessed stalker with a gun. He'd taken a bullet for her that hospitalized him for weeks. The Vice President had taken it upon herself to visit him every day, their conversations growing longer and more personal with each visit. After that incident, he'd been reassigned back to the presidential detail. Her last hospital visit, over a year ago, was the last time they'd spoken. Until now.

"You look good though," Abigail finally said. "Hair's a bit shorter than I remember. . ." She poked him in the chest. "I see you've been working out though."

"Here and there," Sean said, a bit disconcerted at how easily she stepped back into familiarity, even flirtatiousness, with him. It had been easy to forget the professional boundaries between them when they were alone in a hospital room, laughing at a shared joke. Then they had just been a man and a woman, single, and with more than a little shared interest. He'd even considered retiring from the service a bit early to give whatever was happening between them a chance to grow.

But at the end of the day, he was a Secret Service agent and she was the Vice President. Nothing had happened between them and he was sure nothing ever would. Especially now. She was, after all, the acting Commander in Chief. Or soon would be anyway.

"I hardly have time for exercise or any of that anymore," sighed Abigail. "I guess I've just been sitting behind a desk getting more and more-"

"Beautiful," said Sean, meaning it. Her eyes danced at the compliment.

"I've missed you, Sean."

"Me too," he said. Then, with a sigh, "Unfortunately, we don't have the time to reminisce right now."

She nodded. "I suppose you're right at that. I was scheduled for a press conference before the Manhattan Bridge went down-"

"What?!"

She stared at him. "You haven't- oh Sean, it's been all over the news. It must've happened right before you arrived."

"The whole bloody bridge?" Sean was incredulous. What the hell was going on?

Then Abigail pressed a button on the monitor wall and the largest one sprang to life, set to CNN. This time they were both shocked.

Because it wasn't just the Manhattan Bridge.

* * *

*

Magneto had to admire the efficiency of his own strike forces. Hard to believe that the ragtag group of mutants he'd first recruited would ever be that effective. Yet they had exceeded his wildest expectations.

Wanda, in particular, was showing an aptitude for command. Her takedown of the first bridge had been both brilliant and bloodless, though he knew that the girl was by no means afraid to get her hands dirty when dealing with humans. Her own experiences with the unevolved vermin had given her a deliciously ruthless streak. One that unlike her brother, she was capable of holding in check. Yes, her potential was on the rise.

Pietro, of course, had his own uses. He'd singlehandedly planted all of the explosives that had toppled Manhattan's bridges, allowing for the brilliant simultaneous detonations that were now being replayed on every news outlet worldwide. Most of the bridges had already been evacuated by then, for fear of another attack like the first one on the Manhattan Bridge. Of course, no one in Homeland Security could have predicted that they would be simultaneously destroyed. Hundreds of millions of dollars gone up in smoke.

One bridge remained, the sole portal between Manhattan and the mainland. No one was using it, afraid that at any moment it might spontaneously combust. Wanda's report from the scene was that the sky was literally swarming with helicopters. There were bomb squads and bomb-sniffing canines already on the ground, weaving their across the bridge's length as they meticulously searched it for explosives. They wouldn't find anything of course, Magneto had no intention of destroying this particular bridge.

He did, however require the pesky feds out of his airspace. A problem that he would solve personally.

From beside him came a groan, followed by an exclamation of "_Madre de Dios!" _Magneto only chuckled, turning to look at the man in the chair who was just now waking up.

"Did you have a good sleep?" he asked the President of the United States.

Octavio Landon stared at him, as if convinced that he was hallucinating. He was unrestrained, not that it made any difference. The man was absolutely no threat. Here, he was at the complete mercy of the master of magnetism.

"You- you kidnapped me," said the president hoarsely, a horrified expression on his face. "You killed my protective detail."

Magneto snorted at this. "How barbaric," he said. "I actually have great respect for the Secret Service. Singe-minded dedication to an ideal is a quality all-too-rare in this day and age. Your agents are just fine, Mr. Landon. Probably waking up safely as we speak."

Landon stared at his captor, his eyes remarkably devoid of fear. "Where am I?" he asked acidly.

"As of now, you are a resident of Genosha," Magneto informed him. "Formerly known as Manhattan."

"I'm afraid that doesn't make any sense," was all Landon could think to say.

"Ah, well let me rephrase. The island of Manhattan as you know it no longer exists. It's physical ties to the landmass you call America have been all-but severed, and as the world will soon find out I have declared myself ruler of this new sovereign state."

"Sovereign state?" Octavio burst into laughter. "Jesus. . .I've been kidnapped by a deranged terrorist." He looked back up at Magneto. "This is the United States pal, you can't just go stick a flag in the sand and claim it for. . .Genosha or wherever the hell you're from."

"We have you," said Magneto simply. "I should think that would be a powerful incentive for the government to acquiesce to our demands."

Octavio still shook his head. "Unless you have the Vice President and the Speaker of the House and everyone else in the goddamn chain of succession, it doesn't matter. By now my Vice President has probably been made Commander in Chief."

"A supermodel in a power suit," mused Magneto. "Hardly a reassuring thought for you. Abigail Hanover is inconsequential, at best. With you as my hostage _no one, _not the SWAT teams nor the Navy Seals and Green Berets will dare to lift a finger against me.

"Besides, Mr. President, there is something about myself and my colleagues that you fail to appreciate. . ."

Langdon's eyes narrowed. "And what precisely would that be?"

The self-appointed regent laughed darkly. "We are like nothing the world has ever seen," he near-whispered. "We are the future."

* * *

*

Jean wasn't surprised when Logan burst in the door at Xavier's summons, but Ororo right behind him sent waves of speculation through her mind. Had those been hanging out? Together? She glanced over at Scott to see if he had picked up on it, but as far as she could tell his eyes were glued to the television.

Curiously she looked back at Logan and Ororo, who took a seat on the couch. Together. Ororo even leaned over a bit, leaning against Logan as they waited for Xavier to begin addressing them. Jean half expected Logan to snarl or leap off the couch, but instead he smiled down at Ororo. And not one of his 'just completed a hellish new Danger Room scenario' smiles. It was kinda mushy actually. Holy frick, what had _those_ two been up to? Jean made a mental note to grill Ororo about it later. Hell, at least one of the Institute's female residents was getting lucky. Even with the whole psychic bond thing she had going on with Scott, she still felt that things hadn't completely recovered between them since The Kiss.

Jean didn't have time for further reflection however, because Xavier began talking, his tone deathly serious.

"What you see on the television screen," the professor began, is the direct handiwork of Magneto. He took a deep breath. "A long time ago, before our. . .differences drove us apart, Eric shared with me a plan of his. More of a hypothetical scenario, really. We'd wrestled with the problem of how to successfully out mutantkind without bringing witch hunts and lynching down on the heads of every unfortunate soul born with the mutant gene. Eric, almost jokingly, suggested that we secretly gather every mutant we could find to a given location, a location that could be realistically isolated. He said that after we knocked out communications within the area, we would hypothetically be able to establish a colony of sorts for mutants, expelling any human residents. It would be like having our own sovereign nation in the world."

At his students' stricken expressions, Xavier hastily continued, "Mind you, this was mere speculation. Fantasy at best. Magneto was not then capable of committing such a brazen act, and we both dismissed it as a mere pipe dream.

"Yet consider what has happened in the past 24 hours. Blackouts all over Manhattan, the kidnapping of the president, and the destruction of nearly all major bridges between Manhattan and the rest of the nation. The EMP burst that caused the electronic shortages is no doubt Magneto's doing, and the other incidences clearly indicate that he has some very formidable followers."

"Looks like this asshole's gonna out mutants his own way," muttered Logan. "When do we get a crack at 'im?"

Xavier spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. He remains shielded from me, some sort of telepathic interference that I can't seem to home in on, even with Cerebro's help. The mutant signatures of his followers have been popping up sporadically, but none have used their powers long enough to track. For now, our best bet is to infiltrate Manhattan. From there, we can work on narrowing our search."

Scott frowned. "How exactly are we supposed to get in there, Professor? It says on the news they aren't letting anyone in. Not there's that many ways to reach Manhattan anymore."

The professor smiled at this. "Leave that to me," he said. "For now, I think it would be best if you all got some rest. Suit up and meet in the Danger Room in four hours."

Scott nodded, eager despite himself. As scary as this Magneto sounded, he'd been craving real action ever since arriving at the Institute. Let's see that guy try to magnetize twin beams of pulverizing solar energy. With that satisfying thought, he sprang off his own seat.

Jean followed suit, albeit less enthusiastically. Unlike Scott, Xavier's stories about his arch-nemesis actually resonated within her. The rumors that he could control the very iron in your blood. . .she shivered involuntarily. Whatever Scott thought, taking him down would be no walk in the park. Neither would running around in that new 'uniform' of hers. She hoped Xavier got the replacement soon.

* * *

Meanwhile Ororo and Logan went up the stairs without a word exchanged. She was almost but not really surprised when he didn't keep going up toward his own room, but rather went with her to hers.

Outside of the door, as she turned the doorknob, she glanced at Logan over her shoulder. "The professor did say to get some rest."

"Yup."

"Four hours," she said more softly.

"Plenty of time."

The door swung open. Ororo stepped inside, took a deep breath, then yanked Logan inside. He barely had time to kick the door shut behind him before her arms encircled his head, pulling his mouth down to meet hers. The kiss was passionate, full of urgency and desire. Logan was taken aback at first by her forwardness, but then his own desire, and attraction kicked in. He pulled her to him, returning the kiss and even deepening it. He could feel her lithe body against him and beneath his hands, coiled with unreleased energy.

They somehow maneuvered over to the bed, both lightheaded with the purest form of pleasure. Logan was just barely aware of the bed's metal support rail against his shin when Ororo lost her balance, pulling him down on the mattress with her. Logan futilely tried to arrest his fall before he landed on top of her, but the weather goddess already had the matter in hand, flipping on top of him before he landed.

Their kiss broke. Ororo, straddling Logan, was looking down at him with sexiest grin he'd ever seen. Her silver white locks were completely mussed by now, and her shirt was hanging lazily off one shoulder. "Hey you" she said.

"Hey," Logan murmured back, just staring at her. She really was a goddess. . .

And then they were kissing again, her nimble fingers already at work getting rid of his pesky button-up shirt. She kissed like she'd been wandering the desert and he was stream of fresh water. Like she'd been waiting for the kiss all her life. It was spectacular.

"Off!" gasped Ororo, finally done with his shirt. She pulled it off over his head and tossed it toward the door. eTT

The look in her eyes was positively wicked as she gave him an appreciative once-over. "One thing I'll say about you brutes," she said. "You certainly know to stay in shape."

Logan gave a growl of mock protest and pulled her down to him. "Funny, I was gonna say the same about you hippies."

* * *

After changing into her uniform, Jean headed straight for Ororo's room, curious about the vibes she'd been picking up between her and Logan. As usual, Jean didn't bother to knock- the two girls had dispensed with such formalities long ago. Her room was always open to Jean whenever the younger girl needed to talk, and vice versa. Well, almost always. . .

Jean was not prepared for the sight that greeted her upon barging in. There was Ororo all right, but she was on top of Logan _in the bed_. Making out like there was no tomorrow. Thankfully, that was all they were doing. Despite the fact that Logan was shirtless (ewww, and that crumpled thing on the floor was probably his shirt!) things didn't seem to have progressed all that far. Yet it was an extremely intimate scene. Jean had the sudden wish that the ground would just swallow her up.

Ororo hadn't noticed the noise at first, but Logan had. He immediately straightened up, causing Ororo to fall backwards slightly. "Jean!" she exclaimed when she saw.

The redhead was blushing furiously. "Hey. . .guys." She found herself pointing toward the door. "I. . .was just about to leave. Yeah. I should um, I should _really_ go. She was averting her eyes now, because even seeing the two of them in the same bed was conjuring up mental images that she did_ not_ want to have.

Ororo and Logan just stared in mute wonder as the younger girl scurried out the door. Logan, for his part, was mortified. Which is why it took him completely off guard when Ororo began to laugh beside him.

"The hell is so funny?"

The white-haired woman put a hand to her mouth, stifling another peal of laughter. "Oh, c'mon Logan that was priceless. The poor girl, she looked like she'd just walked in on her grandparents or something."

"Exactly. We're never gonna live this down."

"_You're_ never gonna live this down," Ororo corrected merrily. "Good luck keepin' a straight during Danger Room sessions now."

Logan rolled his eyes, collapsing back onto the bed. "So. . .I'm guessing the mood's kinda ruined then."

"I'm afraid so." Still, Ororo smiled and snuggled next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Truth be told, I think I do need a little bit of rest. From the sound of things, we won't be getting much more anytime soon."

Logan nodded. "But after, when this is all done, I'm takin' you out on the best date you've ever had," he said matter-of-factly.

"And then?"

"Well, a walk beneath the stars of course."

Ororo giggled. "Logan? A romantic? I think I hear hell freezing over."

"I have my moments," Logan said. "Provided. . ."

"Provided what?"

"Provided that you'll be my gal?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Your gal? How old are you anyway?"

"I'm serious 'Ro."

She cut off further protest with a quick kiss. "Well I am too hon. Congratulations, you just got yourself a new girlfriend."

As she drifted off to sleep in his arms, Logan closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the nearness of the first woman to give him happiness in a very long time. Outside, the nation was in chaos but for the next few hours it was just the two of them, wrapped in their own delicate cocoon that even a million Magneto's could not disturb.

At least not right now.

* * *

*

A/N: _There it is, Magneto's master plan unfurled. Those discerning readers who picked up on Sean Cassidy, pat yourselves on the back. He is indeed a canon comics character, one of the first members of artist Dave Cockrum and writer Len Wein's 'rejuvenated' X-men, consisting of Storm, Banshee (Cassidy), Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Sunfire, Colossus, and Thunderbird. This new group of X-men, along with the original members (Cyclops, Jean Grey, Angel, Iceman, and Beast) thrust the Uncanny X-men title into huge popularity in the 70s. . .  
_

_But that's a comic history lesson that could last hours and would probably bore the vast majority of readers, so back to Sean Cassidy. The mutant Irishman was a long-lasting character in the X-men mythos, though he rarely makes it into screen adaptations. He remains one of my favorite characters however, so I decided to include him in this fic. And don't worry, he'll get the chance to use his powers once all is said and done._

_As for Ororo and Logan, I (obviously) decided to handle their relationship differently as adults than say Scott and Jean's (as fifteen-year-olds). Hopefully it wasn't too scandalous, and rest assured that the um, mushy stuff will take a second seat to the action in upcoming chapters._

_I've rambled enough. Please tell me what you think: the good, the bad, even the ugly._

_Til next time._


End file.
